The Travels of the Master of Death - The Prince that was Promised
by YDdraigGoch94
Summary: After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. Truer words were never spoken by Dumbledore when Harry found himself as the Master of Death. Now, Harry is reborn as the Crown Prince of a realm on the brink of civil war. Can he stop the darkness to come? [CURRENTLY UNDERGOING REVISIONS]
1. Rebirth

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Chapter 1 - Rebirth ~**

* * *

A red-gold glow of the morning sun stretched across the courtyard, as the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Duel between the Darkest Lord of the century and the Boy-Who-Lived reached its climax. With the rest of the combatants encircling the duellists with bated breath, Riddle and Harry raised their wands in one final, simultaneous, cry:

" ** _Avada Kedavra!_** "

" ** _Expelliarmus!_** "

The cannon-like sound echoed over the battlefield, as the green and red spells met in the centre, and subsequently merge into a single golden beam connecting their wands, just like the time in Little Hangleton, and in the skies above Surrey. Both wizards pushed and strained against the other, neither Harry nor Riddle giving any ground. It seemed that true to the prophecy both were the other's equal, despite the age difference, and the gap in magical knowledge. Finally, both Harry and Riddle let out one final roar. As the magical build up from the golden beam reached its apex, a blast tore the courtyard, causing the spectators to look away.

Onlookers waited for the explosion subside, hoping, praying that the outcome favoured whichever side they were on. Eventually, the dust settled, and everyone saw the corpse of Riddle on the ground, a hole where his heart would be. The Light cheered, as the Death Eaters dropped their wands in surrender, but the celebrations were short-lived as Luna, of all people, noted their missing saviour.

"Where's Harry?" she asked to no one in particular. This caused everyone to freeze, as they frantically looked for the Boy-Who-Lived. They would never find him, for the young man was teleported away by a power beyond them, and Harry Potter was declared KIA by the surviving government, becoming a martyr and a symbol for the Light for generations to come.

That said, it was not the end for Harry Potter, as he woke up in a familiar setting; King's Cross Station.

"Huh, back here again," he said out loud. He took stock of his surrounding, noting that he was already clothed this time round, "Wonder what the deal is."

" **You are dead, Master** ," a feminine voice called out from behind him.

Harry immediately spun around while attempting to draw his wand, only to realise he was unarmed. He then properly looked at the figure before him, taking in the features. Before Harry, stood a relatively tall woman, wearing a form fitting black cloak with hood. In the figure's right hand was a scythe, while her left hand held a leather-bound black book with yellowing pages. The hood of the cloak was drawn over her face, leaving it obscured in shadow.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, before the earlier statement finally registered, "Wait, dead? What? How?"

" **You expended all of your magical energy fighting the Abomination that used to be Tom Marvolo Riddle** ," the figure rather stoically explained, " **As for who I am, well, I called you Master. Is it not obvious**?"

Harry didn't reply, as his mind was still in shock from learning that he was dead.

" **Well, I suppose I can make an allowance for your rudeness, this time, Master. I am Death** ," the now named Death, exasperatedly remarked.

Coming out of his stupor, Harry finally responded, "Wait, you're Death? But, I don't have the Stone anymore, I lost it in the Forbidden Forest."

" **Possession of the Items is irrelevant. I chose you as my Master because you understand that dying is necessary to nature, not something to run away from. When you willingly walked to your death, just like your ancestor Ignotus Peverell all those years ago, you proved yourself worthy of becoming my Master** ," Death explained, " **You are not the first to hold all three Hallows simultaneously. It has happened twice before, but neither person was worthy of being the Master of Death and so I orchestrated their rather swift and untimely deaths**."

Harry stood there processing the information that Death provided. Too much was being thrown at him, which left him extremely unbalanced, and he didn't a moment to collect himself. Eventually, he regained some semblance of control and looked back to Death.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

" **Now? Well, that is an interesting question. As you are my Master, you are, for all intents and purposes, immortal** ," Death stated, " **As such, I cannot allow you to pass on to the Realm of the Dead.** "

"So I can never meet my parents, Sirius, or Remus?" Harry asked in sadness.

" **You can never join them in the afterlife, no** ," Death replied, in a surprisingly gentle tone, " **However, being the Master of Death does come with its benefits**."

She then raised her hand and idly waved, summoning the spectres of four familiar people.

" **When you gained the allegiance of the Hallows, they merged with you. Now their powers are yours to command, as you see fit** ," Death explained, " **Thus, you can summon the Shades of anyone you desire, in a manner that is much more comfortable than if you were to summon them with the Resurrection Stone**."

"Mum?! Dad!" Harry ran towards his parents, and was instantly engulfed in a loving hug. Turning his head, slightly, he then caught sight of his godfather and pseudo-uncle, "Sirius! Remus!"

" _Oh, sweetheart! It's good to see you again_ ," Lily said, her eyes welling up.

" _Hey Kiddo, we are so proud of you!_ " James added, beaming at his son.

"I…I guess I scared you. Walking up to Riddle, like that," Harry weakly chuckled.

" _I'm not going to lie, dear, and say no_ ," Lily replied, with a watery smile.

" _Mhm, but we get why you did it_ ," James added, " _You had to get rid of the soul fragment, after all_."

" **Now we must come to the crux of the matter, Master** ," Death said, drawing the attention of everyone, " **As I said before, you are for all intents immortal, but not in the same sense, as say, the Flamels were**.

" **You can still die master** ," Death explained, " **But once you do, you will be brought before me once more, and you will not be sent on to the afterlife. Such as the situation you are in, now. What will happen instead, is that you will be reincarnated**."

" _So, he will cease being our son_?" Lily asked, fearful.

" **Not as such, Lily Potter** ," Death corrected, " **While he will lose his physical from, each time he is to be reincarnated, he will still retain his memories of every life he will live. In most cases, he will regain his powers, which will either manifest as his magic or an equivalent power, depending on the circumstances of his reincarnation. Sometimes, however, he might not have any power at all**."

"I don't want this, though!" Harry exclaimed, "Surely, I get a choice in the matter!"

His mother and the Marauders shared a look, silently conversing, while Harry was fretting over this sudden news.

" _Harry, you deserve this_ ," Lily said, drawing her son's attention, " _You shouldn't have led the life you did. Take this second chance_."

" _If you're worried about not being able to join us, then just remember, we're only a dream call away_ ," Remus added.

Harry looked down unable to form words, to which Lily moved forward and grabbed her son's chin, lifting it up.

" _Harry James Potter, you listen to me. You have earned this. I don't care what you think, or what the Dursleys' treatment has to lead you to believe. You have earned the right to live a life on your own terms. Take this chance_ ," she said, in a forceful manner.

" _She's right son_ ," James added, " _While I'm loath to part with you so soon after finally having a chance to talk to you, you deserve a better life. A chance to live for once._ "

"But…All I ever wanted was to be with my family. To be with you," Harry argued.

" _And you will have one_ ," Lily insisted, " _Harry, we loved you in life, and we will continue to love you in death. But Riddle took away any chance of us ever having the life you wanted. Since then, you've devoted your entire life to stopping him_."

" _You were too consumed with what Riddle did to have a life, Harry,_ " James took over, " _So hear me now. Forget about us. Take this chance, and have a life with a family that loves you like we do._ "

"Dad…" Harry was speechless, "I…"

" _Riddle already took so much from you, Harry_ ," Sirius added.

" _Don't let him take away your chance at happiness_ ," Remus finished.

Harry let out a defeated sigh. He turned to look at to Death and asked, "What must I do?"

" **Give me your hand, Master** ," she replied, extending a hand from her robe, " **You will be reincarnated into a world similar to Europe in the Middle Ages. You will be born with your magic, but it won't be available until you are much older. You will also be part of a strong lineage and will change the world**.

" **In this world, I am known as the Stranger. You may take me as your patron if you so desire. And when you inevitably pass on, you will return here** ," Death finished, " **Be warned, Master, while you will have a pleasant life, it will not be completely peaceful**."

Harry took one moment to glance at his family, before reaching out to grasp Death's hand. Suddenly, a white light broke out from nowhere, engulfing everyone, and blinding Harry, who in turn closed his eyes.

"Wha-" he started, before he lost consciousness.

* * *

Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell had a grim expression on his face has he rode through northern edges of the Red Mountains of Dorne, with some two dozen men, behind him. Called Ned by his closest friends and kin, his thoughts were scattered as he considered the last two years. Barely a month had passed since the death of Prince Rhaegar, who was slain by his best friend Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident, a battle in the Riverlands that was widely considered to be the decisive victory in a nearly two-yearlong rebellion against House Targaryen.

Robert's Rebellion, as the bards had begun to call it, started with the kidnapping of Eddard's only sister, Lyanna, by Prince Rhaegar, the heir to the Iron Throne. Eddard's older brother, Brandon, incensed by the news, rode for the King's Landing, with a group of men that consisted of Ethan Glover, Kyle Royce, Elbert Arryn and Jeffory Mallister. Upon arrival, Brandon, in a fit of impulsive behaviour, rather loudly shouted for Rhaegar to come out and die. However, the Crown Prince was not there to answer the challenge, and the group were instead arrested and charged with plotting to murder Rhaegar. The respective fathers of each man were called to King's Landing, to answer for the charges, and were summarily executed for treason. Only Ethan Glover survived and was imprisoned for the duration of the war.

The deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, the former being the then Lord of Winterfell, were particularly horrifying. The Warden of the North had demanded Trial by Combat, as was his right. However, in a fit of madness, Aerys II chose fire as his champion and had Eddard's father suspended in the throne room, over a pit of fire. Brandon has a noose tied around his neck but was otherwise free to try and save his father. What followed was utter madness. As Rickard was in full plate, he was slowly roasted alive. Brandon had strangled himself to death, trying to save his father, which meant that the Lord Paramount of the North died as well.

Immediately after, the Mad King had demanded that Eddard's foster father, Jon Arryn hand over Eddard to the Crown to be executed as well. Instead, the aged Warden of the East summoned his bannermen and instructed Eddard to do the same. Robert, who was Eddard's foster brother, did the same, furious that his betrothed was the one who was abducted. Then, following swift negotiations with Hoster Tully, the rebellion began.

After several battles, some ending in victory, others in defeat, Prince Rhaegar took to the field, in his ruby encrusted black armour.

Once he had broken the siege at Storm's End, instead of returning to the capital, Eddard rode further south, receiving word regarding the whereabouts of Lyanna.

"Lord Stark, why are we here?" Ser Mark Ryswell asked, "Should we not be returning to the capital?"

"With the Kingslayer at King's Landing, Ser Jonothor Darry and Prince Lewyn Martell dead, and Ser Barristan imprisoned, three of the Kingsguard are unaccounted for," Eddard informed them all, "I suspect they are guarding my sister, and I received word that she was last seen in Dorne. And that Prince Rhaegar was last seen near the Tower of Joy."

"I would imagine they would join up with the remaining members of House Targaryen instead of holding your sister hostage, my Lord," Martyn Cassel commented.

"Unless they were following the last command of the late Prince," Lord William Dustin reasoned.

"The Kingsguard obey the King, not the Crown Prince," Martyn argued, "Rhaegar was dead long before the Mad King. He would have had no right to issue any orders to those knights."

"You forget the rumours from Harrenhal. That Rhaegar planned to overthrow his father," Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch quietly reminded them, "Perhaps these particular Kingsguard were a part of the conspiracy?"

"Sounds likely," Ser Mark remarked, "Considering that the Sword of the Morning was said to be Prince Rhaegar's closest friend."

"Enough chattering, we've arrived," Eddard interrupted them, bringing his horse to a halt. His eyes hardened, as he eyed the three remaining knights in white standing guard at the entrance to the tower. Dismounting, he approached them.

"I looked for you on the Trident," he called out to the knights.

"We were not there," Lord Commander Gerold Hightower answered.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," Ser Oswell Whent added.

"When King's Landing fell, and Ser Jaime slew your king with his golden sword, I wondered where you were," Eddard stated.

"Far away," Ser Gerold replied, "or his Grace would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in the seven hells."

"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege," Eddard then told them, "Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be amongst them."

"Our knees do not bend easily," Ser Arthur Dayne stated, his eyes turning cold.

"Ser Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a good man and true," Ser Oswell said.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard do not flee."

"Then or now," Ser Arthur said donning his helm.

"We swore a vow," Ser Gerold calmly explained.

Eddard's men moved up beside him, with swords in hand. They were seven against three.

"And now it begins," Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning announced. He unsheathed his sword, Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milk and alive with light.

"No," Eddard said with sadness in his voice, "Now it ends."

As if answering to some unseen signal, both Eddard and Ser Arthur met in the middle, their sword clashing, causing a loud crash of steel upon steel. The allies of both combatants moved to assist.

Eddard watched in sorrow as both Ethan Glover and William Dustin fell to the blades of Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold respectively, yet even in his grief, he did not let up with assault on the Sword of the Morning, meeting Ser Arthur strike for strike, blow for blow.

Around them, Ser Gerold made to strike down Howland, but instead struck a mortal wound to Martyn Cassel. Not a moment later, Ser Oswell was killed by Theo Wull, who stabbed the Kingsguard with a thrust to the spine from behind. Wull was in turn killed by Ser Gerold who slashed his dagger into Wull's throat, killing him instantly.

While this was happening, Eddard and Ser Arthur continued their furious duel, neither side giving way to the other. A cry when Ser Oswell was slain caused Ser Arthur to falter, allowing Eddard to steal a swipe at the Dornishman's leg, drawing blood.

"You are good, Lord Stark," the Sword of Morning reluctantly admitted.

"As are you," Eddard returned, "Surrender. The war is lost to you. I simply want my sister."

"You know that I can't Lord Stark. I swore an oath."

"I know," Eddard sighed, "I had to try, if only for your sisters' sake."

Ser Arthur huffed out a laugh, "Aren't you married now, Lord Stark? No matter, it ends now."

The pair renewed their fierce battle, as Ser Gerold made to finish off Eddard's remaining subordinates. Before he could, however, he was slashed on the shoulder by Lord Howland. Normally, Ser Gerold would be able to shrug off the shallow wound, but out of nowhere, he felt a sudden dizziness.

"Poison…" he whispered.

Taking the opportunity, Ser Mark stabbed his sword deep into the Lord Commander's chest killing him swiftly.

Noting that he was the last man, Ser Arthur ignored Eddard and slashed at Ser Mark Ryswell, who fell cleanly in two halves.

Seeing the chance, Eddard struck at Ser Arthur's back, ignoring the fact it was dishonourable and more concerned about making for his sister. Unfortunately, for Eddard, Ser Arthur expected the attack, and turned around and dodged far quicker than his wounds suggest he would be able to. Seeing that the Lord of Winterfell stumbled, the Sword of Morning lifted Dawn, moving to behead his opponent.

Or he would have, had it not been for the timely intervention of Howland Reed, who struck Ser Arthur in the side of his neck. Eddard then stabbed Ice into the Dornishman's heart, killing him instantly.

Staggering back, and resting on his sword, Eddard turned to Howland, "I owe you my life."

Howland simply smiled, "There is no debt between friends."

Before Eddard could insist, a scream from a woman caught the attention of them both.

"Go!" Howland insisted, "I'll handle the dead!"

Needing no further push, Eddard ran up to the Tower, as the Northern Lord took care of the bodies. As he ran, another scream echoed through the tower. Upon reaching the top, Eddard burst into a room, where he saw a bedridden woman holding a boy a little over a year old. With them were two other women, handmaidens Eddard supposed.

"Ned?" the woman whispered.

"Lyanna!" Eddard called out. He placed his sword at the foot of the bed and knelt beside his sister. Lyanna Stark looked to the side slightly, as she met the eyes of her brother.

"Is that you?" she whispered, "Is that really you? You're not a dream?"

Eddard held on to both of Lyanna's hands with one of his own, while the other stroked the side of her head.

"No, I'm not a dream," he replied with a sad smile, "I'm here. Right here."

"I've missed you, big brother," Lyanna said, as her body seemed to sag.

"I've got you Lya. It's okay now, we can go home."

"Oh, Ned. How I wish I could…I can't Ned. I don't know what's wrong, but my time is near…" she coughed before uncurling around the child she held, "Before I was taken by Rhaegar, I spent a night with Robert when he visited Winterfell, and…and I fell pregnant, Ned.

"Take him, Ned. Promise me, you'll take care of him," she gasped clutching at her brother's tunic.

Eddard, gazed at his nephew, taking in his appearance. He looked to be older than his son Robb, by a year or so. He had tufts of black hair, as dark as Robert's. Eddard also noted that his nephew had his mother Lyarra's green eyes, though missed the slight violet sheen in one of them, in his anguish. Much to his surprise, however, the babe was silent, throughout all this.

"His name is Haraldr, Ned," Lyanna continued, her breaths growing shallower, "He is Robert's heir. Promise me you'll raise him to be a good man, Ned…Pro…promise…me…"

"Lyanna, I promise, please hold on, we'll get you a healer. Stay with me, please!" Eddard cried out, all but begging.

"Make sure he knows he's a wolf Ned," she murmured, before her head lolled to the side, her eyes unseeing.

Eddard gently picked up his nephew, who starting crying, as if realising his mother's passing.

"Easy, little pup, all will be well. You have the blood of the wolf, like your mother, yet you are a stag, like your father. I will protect you, little one, no matter what the cost," he gentled whispered, trying to soothe the boy. Eddard then turned to Howland, who had since entered the room.

"We ride for King's Landing, Howland," Eddard softly commanded.

* * *

Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm sat on the Iron Throne, in the Red Keep of King's Landing. It had been barely two months since the Sacking led by Tywin Lannister, and his argument with his best friend Eddard, who had left to break the siege of Storm's End before rescuing his sister and Robert's betrothed, Lyanna.

A young man in his early twenties, he stood taller than most, with broad shoulders and chin length black hair. He had dark blue eyes, as stormy as his ancestral lands. His face was covered with a scruffy beard, and his face, and had a strong jaw that gave him an attractive quality. He wore a long-sleeved tunic, dark pants and leather boots, coloured in his House colours of black and yellow. His war hammer was rested at the side of his newly won throne.

Robert thought back to his argument with Eddard. Truthfully, he found the deaths of Elia Martell and her children distasteful, but if he was honest with himself, he knew it had to be done. Anyone left of the cunt Rhaegar's seed needed to die for his reign to be secure, and he was glad someone else did it so that he wasn't painted as the villain by the smallfolk. He was brought out of his musings when a servant announced that Eddard had arrived.

Robert watched as Eddard walked in carrying a young child in his arms. His curiosity piqued, he rose to welcome his friend.

"Ned! Welcome back," he greeted.

"Aye, Your Grace, thank you," Eddard replied, with a small nod, "I have returned from Dorne."

Robert's smile faltered, as he took note of Eddard's grim expression.

"You Grace, my sister, your betrothed has passed away," Eddard said, watching his friend's expression turn into horror before anger appeared.

"How?" he all but demanded.

"I am unsure Your Grace, but it appears she fell ill and her health simply grew worse, without a maester to help her," Eddard explained, his tone coloured with sorrow.

"Oh Gods be merciful on her soul," Robert mourned, before looking at the child, who was staring at Robert in curiosity, "Who is this boy?"

Eddard paused slightly as if trying consider what to say. Eventually, he simply stated, "Your son."

Robert's anger faded and was replaced with shock.

"As I understand it, he was conceived shortly before Lyanna was kidnapped by Rhaegar, and subsequently kept prisoner alongside Lyanna," Eddard explained.

"His name…What is his name?" Robert asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Lyanna named him Haraldr, a name from the Old Tongue of the North," Eddard replied, handing the child over to Robert.

The newly crowned king held his son, wincing slightly as the boy grasped his hair, but chuckled.

"He has a strong grip. Haraldr hmm? A strong name, for the Crown Prince," Robert declared before his face turned thoughtful.

Noticing his friend's face Eddard asked, "What's wrong?"

"Ah well…it's just that, with Lyanna's passing, I will be expected to marry," Robert explained, "Jon explained that it might be probable that Tywin Lannister will offer his daughter, Cersei."

Eddard's expression grew cold at the mentioning of the one who ordered the Sacking of King's Landing.

Robert continued, seemingly ignoring his friend's look, "Anyway, Ned, if it happens that I have to marry Cersei Lannister, I can't raise little Harry, here," he looked at his son, giving him a tickle, causing Harry to giggle, "Cersei won't be a mother for him, so I ask that you foster Harry at Winterfell, with him visiting at least once a year, when he's old enough."

Eddard considered the proposal for a few minutes, before answering, "Very well, Catelyn and I will raise him. My son, Robb, might enjoy having an older brother figure while growing up."

Robert grinned, "Excellent! I'll find a wet nurse for the boy, and we'll go celebrate the birth of my son, Crown Prince Haraldr! A true Baratheon!"

"Indeed, it's finally happened, a child of Stark and Baratheon blood. Jon will want to meet him," Eddard chuckled. It had been something they had discussed during their fostering at the Eyrie.

* * *

While the two friends celebrating their victory, and mourned the loss of family, Haraldr, or Harry as he was nicknamed, regarded his father and uncle.

' _So this is what Death meant by a 'Strong Lineage'. So much for a quiet life. It seems I will have enemies here as I did in my last life. Joy…_ '

* * *

All the way in Casterly Rock, one Tywin Lannister was pacing in his study, as his brother Kevan watched him. Usually, the former Hand of the King would be the epitome of calm, yet the reports his spies sent him, had Tywin having to rethink his plans.

"This changes things. The whole scope of the Game has to been altered," he muttered.

"What worries you, brother?" Kevan asked.

Tywin turned to the one person he trusted, to some extent, without reservation.

"It would seem that that the newly crowned stag has a fawn, by way of the she-wolf."

"Speak plainly, brother, I don't care for riddles," Kevan retorted.

"King Robert has a son, by way of his betrothed Lyanna Stark. The boy was conceived before the Rebellion and kept captive along with his mother in Dorne.

"While the babe may not necessarily be trueborn, Robert was, and I suppose, _still is_ enamoured with Lyanna Stark. Enough that he would not hesitate to legitimise the child as his heir," Tywin explained, "And with Robert's currently popularity, the rabble won't care about the it's background, so even if Cersei were to marry the King, a child born of the union would never sit upon the Iron Throne."

"Can you not simply assassinate the boy?" Kevan inquired, even as he cringed at the thought. Though Tywin had set a precedent, if one considered his actions with the regards to the children of Rhaegar Targaryen.

"I could if it wasn't for the fact that the child is tied to four Great Houses. Not to mention if word were to link the assassination back to me, our House would be doomed to extinction," Tywin replied, his face an expressionless mask.

"Even so, the King will need to remarry, so if Cersei were to produce more heirs, and this child were to die before siring children of his own, then a Lannister prince would sit on the throne," Kevan offered, "Better yet, if we exert enough influence in court, the child could be betrothed to a Lannister anyway. Cousin Stafford has a daughter."

Tywin turned to his brother, with an approving look.

"Yes, both are suitable plans," Tywin began, "However, until such a time, there is a more immediate problem. House Stark grows in power and influence, and, according to my informants, the boy is to be initially raised in Winterfell until he is old enough to periodically visit King's Landing. We may yet have the opportunity to gain some influence in court."

"We could have the boy fostered here?" Kevan suggested.

"Perhaps. Unlikely, however. Eddard Stark would not allow it," Tywin replied, "His disdain for our family is well known by now."

As the brothers continued to plot, an interested party elsewhere also took stock of the situation.

* * *

An heir, you say?" said an amused voice, in the catacombs of the Red Keep, a voice belonging to none other than Illyrio Mopatis. Alongside him, was the Master of Whispers of the Mad King's Small Council, Varys the Spider.

"Indeed, a child born of the wolf and stag. A curious, if a dangerous combination," Varys confirmed, "A prince I believe would be good for the realm. If he survives to manhood, that is."

"Yes. However, I doubt the Lions took such news well, however?" the magister asked.

"Not well at all, it would seem. Apparently, the Lioness raged for a day, upon hearing that none of her children would initially sit on the Iron Throne."

"I wonder if this prince would be a threat to the dragon." Illyrio mused.

"Viserys is young and without any steadfast allies of his own, unlike his late elder brother. Not to mention he is beginning to show the same signs of madness his father had," Varys commented, "I would sooner leave the Iron Throne in the hands of the Baratheons than allow for a second Mad King to ravage the realm.

"And Queen Rhaella has yet to give birth, so we do not know whether babe is a boy or a girl," the Spider further added.

"But what of the boy?"

"Safe, and hidden away," the eunuch replied, "He will be raised without knowledge of his heritage. Only when we know that the Madness has not affected him will we reveal his birth right. Perhaps I shall arrange for Connington to find him."

"Jon Connington would die for any child of Rhaegar," Illyrio remarked, "A loyal and steadfast protector could not be found elsewhere."

Varys hummed in agreement but usually unflappable spymaster had a rare troubled expression on his face.

"Does something trouble you, my friend? About Connington?" the Pentoshi merchant inquired, concerned.

"Not about Connington, no," Varys replied.

"Then, what?"

"I pride myself on knowing everything that happens in the Seven Kingdoms," the Spider explained, "Events, both high or low profile, do not happen without my knowledge. Especially a meeting between Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon."

"Could your birds have simply flown by the…liaison?" Illyrio queried, raising an eyebrow.

"That is very unlikely. However, it matters little. For now, the Great Game has changed, with new pieces on the board," Varys giggled, "Alas, I do what I do for the good of the realm, regardless of who sits upon the Throne."

"I see. Well, I shall be seeing you, old friend," Illryio bade Varys farewell before taking his leave.

"Indeed you shall," the Spider tittered, leaving the tunnels.

* * *

Nearly a week later, Eddard Stark had finally arrived at Riverrun, the seat of House Tully, and his lady wife, Catelyn. Catelyn Tully was to be wed to Eddard's older brother Brandon, had he, along with his father Rickard, not been killed on the orders of the Mad King. Then, when the Vale of Arryn declared Rebellion alongside the Stormlands and the North, Hoster Tully declared that his daughters needed to be wed to the Lords of a Great House, as his price for siding with the Rebellion.

In a quick ceremony, Eddard married Catelyn, while Jon Arryn married Lysa. Robb was conceived on the night of the wedding and born while Eddard was away. Now, he returned victorious from the War and was looking forward to meeting his son for the first time.

Carrying his nephew, who fell asleep during the ride, in one arm, while carefully holding a cloth bundle in another, Eddard made to meet his wife.

"So, this is the Crown Prince then, my lord? Our nephew?" Catelyn asked as she took Harry into her arms.

"Aye, Lyanna named him Haraldr, an old name in the tongue of the First Men, though Robert took to calling him Harry, when I introduced them," Eddard replied.

"A good name for the boy," Catelyn regarded her new nephew, "I take it, that he is to be fostered at Winterfell?"

"Until he is old enough to travel to, and from the Capital, yes," Eddard confirmed, "He'll also be periodically travelling to the other kingdoms as he grows older so that he is well rounded."

Catelyn then turned her face to the bundle in Eddard's arms, before looking askance at her lord husband.

Opening the bundle to a new born babe, Eddard looked at his wife with an ashamed expression, "This is Jon Snow, my baseborn son."

Catelyn's face turned cold in fury, "You mean to raise your bastard alongside my children, and the Crown Prince?" she asked, her tone frigid, causing Eddard to flinch, but remained steadfast.

"Shortly before this whole madness began, I travelled to Starfall to visit Ashara Dayne," Eddard began, in a quiet tone, "I had intended on marrying her, and start a cadet line of House Stark, and rebuild Moat Cailin, and we were intimate during my stay. I had no idea Ashara was with child, during the War."

"That explains where the boy comes from, but why isn't Lady Ashara raising the boy?" Catelyn asked, her anger fading slightly, but still speaking coldly, after finding out her lord husband wasn't technically being unfaithful.

"She is dead," came the flat reply, "When I delivered the body of Ser Arthur Dayne, and when Ashara found out I was married to you, she threw herself off the Palestone Sword Tower. I will not abandon him, my lady. It's a greater insult to ignore one's own blood."

"I see," Catelyn said, her eyes narrowing, "Don't expect me to be his mother. I will help raise the prince as a courtesy to your late sister, but I will only tolerate your bastard, at most."

Eddard watched as his wife carried his nephew to her quarters, no doubt to find a bed for Harry. He then closed his eyes in thought, ' _Things are changing quickly in Westeros. Winter is coming_.'

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Right, so I've basically abandoned my earlier Pokémon stories, 'cause I have no clue where I'm going with them. This is the beginning of my series called _The Travels of the Master of Death_. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it, so please leave a review, and I'll see you next week for an update.


	2. The Prince in the North

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Chapter 2 - The Prince in the North ~**

* * *

 ** _Fifteen years later…_**

* * *

A young buck stood in a clearing of the Wolfswood, grazing away at an open patch of grass. Occasionally, it would raise its head and listen to its surrounding, searching for any danger. Its ears perked up, and the deer began pawing at the ground nervously. A scant few moments of no activity lulled the buck into a false sense of security, and it lowered its head to continue grazing. But then, a sudden movement and the deer was felled by an arrow that struck cleanly in the chest, killing it instantly.

A figure wearing black furs jumped down from the branches above, a bow clutched in his left hand, with a quiver on his back.

Three armoured men walked into the clearing, one approached the figure, while the other two tended to the deer.

"An excellent shot Prince Haraldr," said the knight.

"Thank you, Ser Eyron," the figure stated, "Though I nearly lost the prey. You need to work on your stealth and tracking, Edric."

A younger boy trailed behind the knights, carrying two swords.

"Sorry Harry," the boy apologised bowing slightly. He handed the prince the swords, and took the bow and quiver.

"Yes, well, apologising is good. Learning from your mistake is better."

Edric Storm was Harry's bastard brother, born from when his father, Robert bedded Delena Florent, the cousin of his good sister, Selyse Florent. Given that both Edric's parents were of noble birth, he was formally claimed as Robert's bastard and named as the Crown Prince's squire, upon reaching the appropriate age.

"Not to worry my Prince, I'll hammer stealth into him," Ser Eyron stated.

Ser Eyron Snow led the four knights who were sworn into Harry's service; alongside Ser Balon Swann, Ser Robar Royce and Ser Lucion Lannister. Ser Eyron was a bastard of Cregan Karstark who managed to become a member of the Stark household guard and fought in the Rebellion. After personally saving the prince from bandits, while on the way to Riverun for the tourney to celebrate Harry's tenth nameday, Eyron fought in the mêlée completion in order to earn a knighthood. Upon being knighted, he requested to serve the Crown Prince, and was subsequently named as Harry's sworn shield. Not a year later, he was joined by the three other knights, which then led to the four being named as the Wolfsguard, after the Prince's mother's house.

Harry turned to the deer he shot, and noticed that only two of his knights, Ser Balon and Ser Lucion were cleaning the kill.

"Where is Ser Robar?" he asked, looking around.

"Tending to the horses, my Prince," Ser Lucion answered.

"Right. Well, then, take the deer and the other kills," Harry commanded, "We'll eat the rabbits for tonight, then ride for Winterfell tomorrow at dawn."

* * *

It took a little over a week on horseback to return to Winterfell. As he entered the courtyard, his sworn knights heading off to do their duties while Edric followed him, he noticed his cousins, Robb and Jon coaching their brother, Bran, with the bow. Dismounting, and handing the reins to a stable boy, he stood by watching, without drawing attention to himself, Edric standing dutifully to the side.

His uncle, Lord Eddard Stark, stood high on a walkway, alongside his wife Catelyn. Both were watching as their eldest son, Robb, coached their second youngest, Bran, in archery. By them was Jon, Lord Stark's illegitimate son.

Bran's first attempt was off target, hitting a barrel to the side. Jon then patted Bran on the shoulder, as the young boy slumped.

"Go on. Father's watching, and your mother," he said as Bran looked to where his parents stood, both smiling at him. He then pulled the arrow back, his arm shaking slightly. He however took a deep breath and steadied his arm. Realising the arrow, it struck the target, if slightly off centre.

Dropping his arms, Bran frowned and sighed in disappointment.

"Not bad, Bran," Robb complimented, "I see Harry's been teaching you."

Bran flushed slightly, but smiled all the same at his older brother. He raised his arms once again trying to aiming for the centre, but this time, the strain was too much, as the arrow flew high and wide. Jon and Robb stifled their laughter but, Rickon, the youngest Stark, laughed loudly while Bran's head fell in shame.

"And how many of you were marksmen at his age?"

The three boys looked up to see Lord Stark looking sternly down at them. When neither Robb nor Jon answered, he smirked.

"Keep on practicing Bran," the patriarch said, "You'll get better."

Bran nodded and raised his bow. He aimed at the target, but before he could fire his arrow, another arrow flew and embedded deeply into the target's centre. All three turned to see Arya Stark, the youngest daughter of the Wolf Pack, curtsy mockingly at the three. Bran dropped his bow in shock, and would have made to chase after his sister, if not for the fact the arrow was split by another. Everyone turned around to see Harry holding out his bow, having been the one to release the arrow.

Walking over to Bran, he placed a hand on his head, "Easy does it Bran, these two won't tell you, but they were worse than you are now, when they were your age."

Robb and Jon both scowled at their cousin, while Bran smirked at the thought.

"And Arya, let's not be arrogant, shall we? There will always be someone who's better than you, in any endeavour," Harry said. Arya flushed and ran off, no doubt to cause more mischief. Harry continued, "Mind you Uncle Eddard, I was a marksman at nine, if you recall."

Eddard did indeed recall that little fact as he chuckled. His brother, Benjen, was returning from the Wall to visit family, and the two were shooting off arrows, as they often did when they were younger. As it so happened, Harry stumbled upon them, and asked for lessons. Seeing no harm, the Stark brothers gave their nephew some impromptu lessons with the bow. Surprisingly, Harry had a remarkable talent with the bow, and it took a mere three attempts, before he would consistently hit the centre ring.

In some ways Harry was very much like his father, and even his mother a times, but in others, not so much. For one, where Robert thrived in and desired battle, Harry loved it, but did not desire it. Their respective choice in weaponry was another difference. The King preferred the use of a war hammer, but the Crown Prince oddly enough chose to handle a hand-and-a-half sword slung across his back, and a slightly shorter than average longsword at his right hip. It was curious choice, but when asked, Harry simply smiled, and shrugged saying that it felt right.

Turning to face his cousins, Harry greeted them, smiling lightly, "Cousins of mine, you look well."

"You've been gone for weeks! Where the seven hells have you been Cousin?" Robb asked.

"Ah, I went to visit Uncle Benjen at the Wall. The Wolfsguard and I went to observe some new Brothers being sworn in, before we headed back," Harry replied, with his trademark roguish grin, "Stop off along the way to hunt to game for tonight's supper."

"You went beyond the Wall? What about the wildlings?!" Jon exclaimed.

Harry frowned, "They all aren't exactly wild, Jon, the more civil of them prefer to be called Free Folk. The ones who don't venture south of the Wall."

"Still…Isn't it dangerous for the Crown Prince to be dallying about north of the Wall?" Robb asked.

"As if I would be that easy to kill, Robb. As it is, I'm not about to led that pissant Joffrey have any chance of ascending to the Iron Throne," Harry replied with a snort.

Bran looked confused, but his older brothers looked solemn. Above them, Eddard watched, thinking on the last fourteen years.

The Seven Kingdoms had mostly been peaceful in the immediate years after Robert's victory. However, in 289 AC, conflict rose again in the form of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Initially, Balon Greyjoy sought to regain independence for the Ironborn, and restore their traditions of old. However, the presence of an heir to the throne made him less secure of his plans. Balon decided against an invasion, only for his brother, Euron, to kill him, disgusted with Balon's cowardice, and usurped leadership of House Greyjoy.

The Crow's Eye, with the backing of his younger brothers and nephews, unleashed the Iron Fleet. An armada numbering in the hundreds, Euron had managed to sack Lannisport, before a response was even made. Subsequently, Rodrik Greyjoy was sent to storm Seagard, but was unsuccessful, and was killed by Jason Mallister. The counterattack by the Royal Fleets led to the naval victory off Fair Isle, and the death of Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy, personally killed by Stannis Baratheon. It was then, that the Sieges took place, led by King Robert I and Eddard Stark.

During the Breach of Pyke, Maron Greyjoy was killed, and eventually, Euron Greyjoy swore fealty to the Iron Throne. The Crow's Eye was forced into exile, and Rodrick Harlaw was declared Lord Regent of the Iron Isles until the youngest son of Balon Greyjoy, Theon, was of reasonable age. Theon was then taken as a ward of House Stark, while his sister, Asha, was taken to Riverun, to be fostered there.

While raising his nephew had been a joy, Eddard was mildly concerned when Harry didn't overly react, to the circumstances of his mother's death. When asked, Harry simply stated that he would mourn his mother's passing, but live for her sake.

"Hey, Aunt Catelyn, I brought a stag I shot down on the way here. Maybe we can have it for the evening meal?" Harry's voice brought Eddard out of his musing.

"Of course, Harry, I'll see to it that the cooks prepare something for tonight," Catelyn answered with a smile.

Eddard was about to congratulate his nephew on his kill, when he was interrupted by a voice behind him.

"Milord, milady."

Eddard and Catelyn looked up to see Ser Rodrik standing stiffly near them holding a missive with Theon Greyjoy, standing beside him. Theon watched while Ser Rodrik reported to Lord Stark of the deserter of the Night's Watch found south of the Wall near Long Lake. Eddard's face fell and he sighed tiredly as he turned back to his Master-at-Arms.

"Tell the lads to saddle their horses. And tell Bran that he to come as well," Eddard commanded. Theon bowed and went off to do his duties. Behind Eddard, Catelyn frowned.

"Do you have to?" she asked her husband. Eddard sighed and nodded.

"He swore an oath Cat," Eddard said gently, "I have no choice."

"Law is Law, milady," Ser Rodrik added.

"But ten is too young to see such things," Catelyn protested.

"He won't be a boy forever," her husband replied, "Winter is coming and it's best if he's prepared."

"Another execution Uncle Eddard?" Harry asked, as he came up beside his aunt and uncle.

"He broke his oath, something even the gods cannot forgive," Eddard told his nephew, who nodded.

"What does a man have, if not his honour?" Harry replied with the rhetorical question, before sighing, "A pity though, the Wall is undermanned as it is."

"Aye, Benjen says as much when he visits, I'll have to write to your father, to see whether he can call a Royal Edict to empty the dungeons of all the cities and towns across Westeros," Eddard said, "As well as maybe request volunteers."

"I wouldn't remain hopeful of volunteers. The Watch has declined since its inception. People see it as a place for the dregs of society," Harry replied with grim look. Blinking, he looked to Eddard, "Uncle, seeing as I'm the Crown Prince, can I deliver the sentence, and carry out the execution?"

Both Eddard and Catelyn looked surprised at the request.

"Why would you do that, Harry?" Catelyn asked.

"You've always taught me that the man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword, Uncle," Harry replied, "I plan on doing away with the concept of the King's Justice when I ascend to the throne. I should, at least, get some practice, as distasteful as it sounds."

Eddard raised his eyebrows at his nephew's statement, before placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I've taught you well, it would seem," Eddard said with a proud smile, "You've become a great young man, Harry. A man your mother would be very proud of."

Harry blushed slightly, as his mouth tilted upwards into a bashful smile.

"Thanks, Uncle, though we should go now, if we're to return in time for supper."

* * *

Harry stood by the execution site, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, while two guardsmen dragged the deserter, dropping him by the chopping block. Harry allowed the man to speak his final words.

"I know I broke my oath. And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall to warn them but…I saw what I saw…I saw White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm a coward, tell them I'm sorry," The man said, as Harry narrowed his eyes.

' _White Walkers_?' he thought, ' _That can't be good_.'

Motioning to the guards to place the man's head on the chopping block, Harry bowed his head, and began reciting in a ritualistic manner.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name," he began.

In the corner of his eye he saw Jon murmur something to Bran, as his uncle and Robb stood with grim expressions on their faces.

"King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm," Harry continued, "I, Haraldr of the House Baratheon, Prince of Dragonstone, sentence you to die."

Harry then lifted his sword and swung it down, instantly beheading the deserter.

As the guards cleared away the execution block, are stared down in thought. In the corner of his sight, he noticed his uncle approaching him.

"Are you alright?" Eddard asked, with a slight frown.

"Just noting how easy it was to kill him," Harry answered, "I take no pleasure in it, however."

"And that distinction is what marks you as a good man, Harry," Eddard stated gently, patting his nephew on the shoulder, "So long as you take no pleasure in killing, you will be fine."

Harry smiled, "Thanks Uncle Eddard."

"Anytime nephew," the Stark lord replied, "Come on, best get back in time for the evening meal."

It was on the ride back, that Harry noticed something off with his second youngest cousin. Bran was always the deep thinker and the more thoughtful one out of the Stark children. He was not a born warrior like the older Stark sons. It many ways, it reminded Harry of himself. However Harry agreed with his uncle's decision. It was best if Bran knew of it now and understood the significance of justice before it was too late.

"You alright, Bran?" he asked softly.

The young boy nodded, "The man was a deserter. He deserved to be executed."

"Do you truly believe that little cousin?" Harry asked. Bran did not respond, but rather looked up to the sky.

"Harry?"

"Yes Bran."

"What happens to people after they die?" Bran asked. Harry chuckled.

"Why do you ask me that?"

"You know things," Bran replied, "Plus, I just want your opinion."

"Well, what I believed is that when a person dies, their bodies and spirits ascend to the heavens. There, they are brought before the Gods of Old, where they are judged on the actions of their life. Then, they are reborn in a different age and in a different world, with their new lot in life, dependent on the actions of the life before. That, little cousin, is what I believe."

"So we never really go away?" Bran asked.

Harry chuckled, "No. And neither do the people we love and cherish. We will meet them again, hopefully in a better time."

"I like that," Bran whispered, with a small smile.

"Hold."

Harry and Bran pulled their horses' bridles and peered out in the middle of the road. Lying in the middle of the path was the bloodied corpse of a stag. Its throat was ripped open but strangely its body was untouched aside from the maggots. A little way off, was the corpse of a direwolf with a fragment of an antler imbedded in its throat. Judging by the five pups nearby, the direwolf was female. Harry's eyes softened when he gazed at the pups, who squealed as they huddled with the corpse of their mother. It was then that Harry noted something.

"I'm not sure how I should take the fact that the symbol of my father's house, and the symbol of my mother's house have killed each other," he commented drily.

There were rounds of laughter at the Crown Prince's wit, but Jory, the captain of the Stark household guard spoke up.

"Rare to see a direwolf south of the wall. It's a bad sign," he stated.

"Why?" Bran asked.

"A direwolf this far south is a sure sign that winter is coming," Harry explained, "That prey up north of the wall is scarce enough to venture south. One so far down means that the coming winter will be harsh."

"What do we do with them?" Robb asked as he pointed at the pups.

Eddard looked at the wolf pups and sighed.

"They won't survive without their mother. Better a quick death," Eddard said to Theon, who nodded.

"Right then. Look away Bran," he said curtly.

"NO!" Bran protested, as he picked up a pup.

"Put away your blade Theon," Robb commanded, as he picked up two others. Theon bristled at the order and glared at him. Robb blinked before an apologetic look crossed his face. He then continued, "We'll be keeping these pups, father."

"These are not common dogs, boy. It's dangerous," Hullen, the stable master of Winterfell said, "It'd be more of a mercy to kill them."

Bran looked pleadingly to his father, but only received a furrowed brow in return. Harry was about to speak up in defence, when Robb beat him to it.

"Father, Ser Rodrik's bitch whelped not long ago. She'll have enough milk. The litter only had two pups," Robb insisted stubbornly.

"She'll tear them apart, when the pups try to nurse," Eddard replied

"Lord Stark," Jon said, slightly stilted at having to call his father by his formal title, "There are five pups, three male, and two female."

"Aye, what of it?"

"You have three sons, and two daughters. The banners of House Stark is that of the Direwolf. It's as if they are meant to have the pups." Harry was saddened that Jon discounted himself, but the bastard of Winterfell had long since resigned himself to consider himself apart from the Stark children, no matter how much Harry and Robb insisted otherwise.

Eddard's expression changed at Jon's rationale, while the household guard exchanged glances. Harry saw that Robb and Bran were aware of what Jon was doing, while a flicker of an odd look graced Greyjoy's face.

Eddard, too, seemed to understand. "You want no pup for yourself?" he softly asked.

"I am no Stark, Father."

"Direwolves are fiercely loyal, Uncle," Harry added from his seat on his horse, "They can serve as companions and protectors for my cousins."

The Lord of Winterfell regarded Jon and Harry carefully, while Robb hastened to fill the silence that fell amongst the party.

"I will nurse him Father," Robb declared, "With a towel and warm milk, I'll have my pup suckle until he's old enough not to."

"Me too!" Bran echoed his older brother, while the pup in his arms made to lick his face.

Lord Stark gave his sons are hard look, "Easier to say. Harder to do. I will not have you harass the servants to do the duty you have promised to do. If you do not take proper care of them you will be punished for it, and if they die, you will personally bury them.

"You must train them. _You_ must train them, as Farlen and his daughter will have nothing to do with these monsters. And the gods help you if you mistreat them. They will sooner tear off a limb that sulk away if you kick at them."

Bran nodded eagerly as he carried his pup in his cloak, Robb passed a pup to Ser Rodrik, for Rickon, as Theon carried the final two for the Stark girls. As they went back, Jon heard whimpering and crouched down to see a small white pup cowering in a small hollow. Jon picked it up and stared at it.

"That one's yours, Snow," Theon chuckled, "The runt of the litter."

Harry laughed softly at Jon's expression, before a small snarl was heard. A black blur leapt at his throat. Only Harry's fast reflexes saved him as he caught the blur and held it up to stare at a pitch black pup with blue eyes. Harry blinked in shock as the pup snarled and attempted to bite his throat again.

"Whoa, you got a fighter Harry," Bran said with a laugh. Eddard let out a soft smile as he watched Harry attempt to pet the young pup, only for the pup to bite his finger.

"Reminds me of you," Eddard said. Harry cocked his head and looked at the pup who had realized the fighting was useless and had resorted to glaring at him. He frowned.

"Very funny, Uncle," he replied in a droll voice.

Bran stared at Harry's pup.

"What will you call him, Harry?" Bran said. Harry turned to Bran with an odd look.

"Hm, how about Fenrir," Harry suggested.

"After Bran the Builder's companion?" Robb asked.

Harry gave his typical roguish grin, "Why not? I'm of the north, and my direwolf needs a northern name. Ya hear that? I'm calling you Fenrir!"

The pup merely glared before snuffling.

* * *

Eddard walked into the Godswood, intending on cleaning his sword, Ice, by the weirwood. It was a ritual he did whenever he returned from an execution. Even if he wasn't the one to deliver the stroke, he found peace in the action. As he walked along the path, he was surprised to see his nephew kneeling before the face of the tree, his head bowed. Hearing the approaching footsteps, Harry rose and dusted his legs.

"Uncle, something you need?" he asked.

"No, nothing, Harry," Eddard replied, as his forehead creased in a slight frown, "I could asked you the same thing, though."

Harry let out a sigh. His thoughts lately had often wandered to his past life, and to his mother in this life. He couldn't exactly tell his uncle that, however, lest he be thought touched in the head. Instead he simply replied;

"It's nothing Uncle, just thinking of Mother."

Eddard sensed that his nephew wasn't telling him everything, but didn't push it. Instead he asked, "What about Lyanna?"

"Just 'what ifs'. How life would have been, had Mother lived to be Queen, what my siblings, if any, would have been like. Would she be proud of me? Those sorts of thoughts, Uncle."

Glancing at the weirwood, Eddard turned to face his nephew.

I can tell you that without a doubt, that Lyanna would be nothing, but proud of you," he said, "As for your other thoughts, I can't really offer you an answer."

Harry chucked, "I know Uncle Eddard, just wool-gathering, is all."

The sound of footsteps made the uncle and nephew turn to face the one approaching them, who turned out to be Lady Stark.

Instead of looking directly at her husband and nephew, Catelyn looked to the weirwood, considering something, as Eddard sat down next to the pool, while Harry stood beside him.

"All these years, and I still feel like an outsider when I come here," she said.

"You have five northern children, you're not an outsider," Eddard replied in gentle rebuke.

"I wonder if the Old Gods would agree," Catelyn wondered with a small smile.

"It's your gods will all the rules," Eddard said, with a wry smile, "Where are the children?"

"In the kitchens, arguing over names for the pups. Speaking of which, direwolves, Ned? Would puppies have not sufficed?" Catelyn demanded.

Harry chuckled, to which his aunt sent a withering glare his way. He then raised his hands in surrender, while Eddard smiled.

"How did Arya, Sansa and Rickon react?" he asked.

His wife huffed, "Arya is already enthralled by hers. Sansa graciously accepted her pup, but the excitement shone in her face. Rickon, though is a little skittish."

"Is he afraid?" Harry asked.

"A little," Catelyn answered, "He is three."

Eddard frowned, "He shouldn't. He should learn to face his fears. He will not be a child forever and-"

"Winter is coming. We know Uncle," Harry interrupted with his typical grin.

Eddard rolled his eyes, as Catelyn laughed softly. A companionable silence fell on the group, until the Lady of Winterfell spoke up.

"How was the execution?" she asked, her nose wrinkling at the thought.

Eddard knew what his wife was really asking and made to reply, "Bran did not turn away, and took it well. You would have been proud."

"I am always proud of Bran, just as I am will all my children," Catelyn replied.

"Gee, Aunt Catelyn, nice of you to completely ignore me," Harry snarked, but the smile that graced his lips took away any bite from the statement.

Eddard involuntarily snorted, while Catelyn sighed.

"You don't need my praise to stoke your already overinflated ego," she retorted.

"Aye, so much like Robert at times," Eddard added before turning to his wife, "Now, I know you dislike coming here, unless absolutely necessary, so what is it?"

"I am so sorry, my love," Catelyn said, taking her husband's hands

"What is it? Tell me."

"There was a raven, from King's Landing. Jon Arryn is dead," Catelyn informed her husband.

Harry gained a look of shock.

"How?" he asked

"A fever took him," she told her nephew, as Eddard looked down, trying to process the information, "I know he was like a father to you, Ned, and a grandfather to you Harry."

"Your sister? Her son?" Eddard asked.

"They both have their health," Catelyn replied, "Gods be good."

Catelyn then sat down next to her husband. "The raven brought more news," she carried on, before Eddard turned his head to his wife, who instead turned to the Crown Prince, "The King rides for Winterfell. With the Queen, and a full entourage with them."

"If father is coming this far north. There's only one thing he's after," Harry said, looking at his uncle.

"You can always say no, Ned," Catelyn told him, her voice hitching slightly as her eyes watered.

Eddard simply looked away, as he pondered whether to refuse, feeling his place was in the North.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I had planned on posting on a weekly basis every Friday, but I will be on holiday from the 18th, so I doubt I would have time to post this. Speaking of which I will be taking a break over Christmas and New Year's, so an update won't occur till the 8th of January.

I have to say though, I wasn't expecting the response that I did, so that so much to all those who reviewed/favourited/followed this story. It gives me a lot of confidence to write.

I also just want to pass on a thanks to **iitrnr** , who pointed out in the last chapter that the time it would have taken for Eddard to go from King's Landing, to Storm's End, to Dorne, and back to the capital, would take much longer than two weeks. Please do point out mistakes in reviews or PMs.

See you after the holidays!


	3. The Royal Entourage

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

 **Warning** : I should probably point out that there is a small sex scene at the beginning of this chapter.

* * *

 **~ Chapter 3 - The Royal Entourage ~**

* * *

"Oh gods!" a nubile woman with dark red hair cried out. She had dark blue eyes, fair skin, with a pair of firm breasts and curves in the right places and freckles dusted her nose and chest.

Harry smirked, pounding into the young woman. His cock was hard as steel as he continued to thrust into her cunt.

"Ah! Harder!" she moaned, feeling the desire burn through her body.

Harry felt his cock swell and knew he was reaching his limit. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her forward, roughly, repeatedly.

"Fuck!" Harry grunted before closing his eyes and giving one more hard thrust, releasing all of his seed into the woman, he then pulled his now semi-hard cock out and fell on the bed, on his back, breathing heavily.

"Gods, Ros. I haven't had a fuck in about a month. That did me some good," Harry chuckled, as newly named Ros laid on top his chest, softly circling a slender finger.

Ros was a young girl, roughly fifteen years of age, from King's Landing. When he had visited his father the previous year, Harry was taken to one of Robert's favoured whorehouses, to 'finally become a man' as the King had eloquently stated.

However, Harry got more than he bargained for, when he found out that Ros ended up pregnant, and subsequently bore him a daughter, who he named Lya after his mother. Knowing that Ros and Lya wouldn't be safe in the capital, Harry arranged for the pair to be secretly taken North, and secured a job for Ros at an inn in Winterfell.

Though Harry and Ros didn't love each other as a man would his wife, they cared enough for each other, if only for the sake of their daughter, and regularly, if secretly, continued to meet each other. Harry did suspected that his Uncle was aware of Ros and Lya, but the topic never came up, so Harry left it at that.

"You're not the only one. I've had the itch for a while now," she giggled impishly.

Harry snorted, "I'm sure you have."

He rubbed his hand down Ros' arm as she sighed in contentment.

"How is Lya?" Harry asked.

Ros smiled lightly, "She's fine. Keeps me up at night, sometimes, but she's a joy. She's getting bigger every day."

Harry laughed slightly, before his smile dimmed, "I just wish I could be around more to see my daughter grow," he said, regretfully.

"You're around enough," Ros retorted, firmly. She placed a finger on Harry's mouth, when he made to argue, "You got us out of King's Landing, and got me my job at the Inn, so I don't have to whore myself anymore. You've done more than any other man who got a whore pregnant would have done."

"Well, when you put it that way," Harry grinned sheepishly, "I just want you safe, you know?"

He rose, and sat on the edge of the bed. Ros, in turn, got up, and wrapped her arms around Harry from behind, her breasts pressing against his back.

"I know you do, and I love that about you. I know you'll spend as much time as possible with Lya."

Harry chuckled before extracting himself from his lover's embrace, "Anyway, I ought to go. I'm sure my absence will be noticed by now, and I really want to avoid a lecture by my uncle," he stated, getting up to finding his clothes.

* * *

Winterfell was bustling with activity as everyone in the castle prepared for the arrival of the Royal Family. Cooks were frantically checking inventory, making sure they had enough for the royal contingent. Wine and ale casks were tapped in preparation for many drinks to be downed for the feasts to come. Maids and servants cleaned the rooms while blacksmiths and carpenter crafted and repaired feasting wares. People made sure their finest clothes were ready for the royal party that would soon arrive.

Up at the rooftop of Winterfell, Harry watched as Bran excitedly pointed at the large caravan of gold that was steadily making their way to the Winterfell Castle.

"Look Harry! Over there, I can see them!" Bran said. Harry chuckled.

"Aye, cousin. C'mon, we better climb down and get ready for them to arrive," Harry said.

Bran nodded and started to make his way down the side of the Winterfell tower. Bran heard a rustling noise and he saw Harry gracefully leap his way down using the beams, posts, and wall to scale his way down. Bran hurried downwards and jumped down by Harry's side in time to face his mother.

"Bran, have you been climbing again?" Catelyn Stark asked, "You know you shouldn't climb the tower!"

Bran looked down at his feet and scuffed his boot on the ground.

"Sorry mother," he said guiltily.

Harry hid his smile as his aunt sighed, "I know you'll do it again. Go on and warn your father."

Bran smiled and ran off to tell his father of the coming caravan. Harry stood at attention as Lady Stark eyed him.

"I blame you for this, always encouraging him to do what he enjoys," Catelyn sighed once more.

Harry simply grinned his typical roguish grin.

"Go along now, little trickster," Catelyn said, waving her nephew off, as Harry laughed with Fenrir bounding after him.

Harry then idly walked through a smaller courtyard, looking at the servants hastening to prepare for the arrival of his father.

"I wonder where that little spitfire is…" Harry murmured, looking for his youngest female cousin.

Speaking of said little wolf, she was running through the crowd, Nymeria beside her, trying to squeeze through the gaps, with a helmet, clearly too big for her, on her head.

Harry smirked as Arya ran into him, whilst Nymeria pounded on Fenrir causing the wolves to start wrestling.

"This is what happens when you do not watch where you are running, miss metal head," Harry said with a teasing smile, pressing his right hand on the helmet on her head, "Uncle Eddard will be mad if he sees you with this," Harry smiled, taking the helmet from his cousin and putting it to the side.

Arya pouted at this, causing Harry's smile to widen.

"Go on, little cousin, your mother is undoubtedly looking for you," Harry chuckled lightly as he watched Arya turn around so fast that he feared her head would snap off as she ran through the crowd. Harry followed at a more sedate pace, a fond smile on his lips.

Of all his cousins, Arya and Jon were his favourite, due in part to the fact the three of them all shared the traditional Stark look; pale skin and dark, black hair. The other Stark siblings had their mother's Tully colouring, of watery blue eyes and auburn hair. The Lord of Winterfell would often comment that Arya was Harry's mother reborn, with the way she behaved. The rambunctiousness often caused Arya to butt heads with her sister and mother, both of whom shared a more traditional outlook on the behaviour of young ladies.

Jon, however had one distinguishing feature, comparable to Harry's emerald eyes. Jon's own eyes were a haunting shade of violet that he inherited from his late mother, Ashara of House Dayne. It often led to Jon receiving second, or even third glances from passers-by, but nothing malicious ever came of it.

Harry was brought out of his daydreaming when a shout came from the gate that his father was approaching. Suddenly the courtyard was a myriad of chaos as everyone made to stand at their designated places. As Crown Prince, it was Harry's duty to greet his father alongside his uncle, so he made sure his sword's scabbard was strapped to his back, and his other sword hanging by his right hip.

Harry quickly made his way to stand beside his uncle, who offered him a small smile as he approached. To his left, his aunt stood, holding Rickon, while the Stark children stood next to their mother, from Robb to Bran. Jon was stationed with Theon a little way at the back, due to his status as a baseborn.

The sudden thunderous noise of hooves brought the courtyard to a hush, as the Royal contingent road in. At the head rode a member of the Kingsguard, with his half-brother Joffrey behind him. Following the second Prince, rode a man with full black armour, and a dog-shaped helm. This was Sandor Clegane, commonly known as the Hound, and was Joffrey's sworn sword. Harry noticed how Joffrey looked at his cousin, Sansa, who blushed ever so slightly. Harry noticed that Robb saw the small interaction between his sister and the prince, eliciting a tiny smile from Harry. The remaining riders took position in the courtyard, while the Royal Carriage stopped in the centre. Behind the carriage road the most powerful man in Westeros.

Robert Baratheon was a tall and heavily built man, with black hair that fell freely down to his shoulders. His face was covered with a neatly trimmed beard that was speckled with grey, his expression stern. Strangely enough the King had a sword strapped to his side, which left Harry confused, considering Robert favoured the warhammer. As he approached, everyone of Winterfell knelt, paying homage to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Dismounting his horse, Robert then approached the Starks. Looking up slightly, Harry noted how his father, while still fit and able, had put on a bit of weight around the middle, similar to his uncle. Standing in front of Eddard and Harry, he silently gestured them to rise. Seeing the hand, both Eddard and Harry rose, as the rest folk in the yard made to follow them.

Eddard bowed his head slightly, "Your Grace."

Robert silently regarded his best friend before finally speaking.

"You got fat," he stated, flatly.

Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Eddard however, merely looked down slightly before raising an eyebrow. A brief moment later, they both laughed before hugging, while Harry grinned.

"No need to stand on ceremony when amongst friends, eh Father?" Harry commented, with his trademark lopsided smirk.

Robert barked out a laugh, as he made to embrace his firstborn, who returned the hug.

"Ha! Too right, my lad, too right. You're a man grown now, no longer the boy you were two years ago," Robert replied, he then moved to greet Catelyn, giving her a hug, and then mussing up Rickon's hair.

Robert then turned to face Eddard, "Nine years! Where have you been? Why haven't I see you?"

"Guarding the North, Your Grace, "Eddard replied, "Winterfell, as always, is yours."

As his father and uncle shared their reunion, Harry focused on the Lannister party that came to Winterfell. Disembarking the carriage were his younger half-brother Tommen and his half-sister Myrcella. Tommen was a chubby boy with longer than average blond hair than ran to his ears, and the typical Lannister green eyes, a duller shade than Harry's own vibrant emerald. Myrcella, however, was a near carbon copy of her mother, but for the raven coloured hair and blue eyes of Robert. She and Joffrey were born a few hours apart, with Joffrey being the elder of the two. Speaking of Joffrey, he took mostly after his mother, with blond hair and green eyes. He had yet to dismount his horse, rather preferring gaze around Winterfell, a slight sneer on his face. Finally, the Queen, Cersei Lannister disembarked, looking around.

Robert then moved to greet the Stark children, while the Queen approached Harry, his uncle and his aunt. Cersei offered her left hand for Eddard to kiss, who did, uttering a quiet 'my Queen' while Catelyn curtsied also saying 'my Queen'.

Harry then lightly grasped the Queen's hand landing a ghost of a kiss on the back.

"Queen Cersei," Harry said. She would never be 'his' Queen, the most respect she would get from him would be the fact that she was his step-mother, "A pleasure to see you once again."

"I'm sure it is, Prince Haraldr. To you as well," the Queen replied, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Rising, Harry noted that Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer had removed his helmet and looked around, but also noted that the Imp, Tyrion was nowhere to be seen. Harry liked the second son of the Head of House Lannister, finding him intelligent and a person he could have a good conversation with. Tyrion in turn greatly respected Harry, and appreciated that the Crown Prince never brought up Tyrion's rather short stature.

Harry then turned to face Tommen and Myrcella. Harry was never particularly close to Tommen or Joffrey, as both resented the fact that he, Harry, was favoured the most by their father. Instead both sought comfort from their mother. It was Myrcella who was Harry's favoured sibling, and was more or less the apple of Robert's eye.

"Tommen, hello," Harry greeted, with a small smile. When Tommen merely nodded back, Harry moved to greet Myrcella, "Sister, it's been too long."

"Too long indeed, brother," Myrcella returned with a wide smile. She lightly hugged him, which Harry returned. He was about to introduce his cousins, when his father called out.

"Ned take me to the crypts, you as well, Harry. I wish to pay my respects," the King ordered. The Queen looked up and frowned at her husband.

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," she said.

"Ned!" Robert said, ignoring his wife. Eddard sent an apologetic look to Cersei, while did Harry did the same to Myrcella, as both hastened to follow the King.

* * *

Robert, Eddard and Harry silently strode through the crypts, under Winterfell.

"Tell me about Jon Arryn, father?" Harry asked.

"One minute he was fine, and then he was on his bed, slowly fading away. I loved that man," Robert replied sombrely.

"We all did," Eddard said, his voice tinged with sorrow.

"Aye, but he never had to teach you much, did he? Me though, do you remember me at sixteen? Robert asked, chuckling, "All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls."

"Isn't that what you still want to do father?" Harry asked, sardonically.

"Ha! Always with the wit, you are!" Robert boomed. He then stopped and his face turned serious.

"I need you Ned. Down in King's Landing, not up here where you're of no damn use to anybody. Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King," Robert said.

"I'm not worthy of the honour," Eddard said, kneeling.

"I'm not trying to honour you, I need your help. Now more than ever," Robert replied, his expression grave, "Jon wanted to tell me something, something he thought was important. The fool that I was, I said it could wait till I returned from the hunt.

"When I returned, Jon was bedridden with a fever, and half-delirious," Robert continued, "Kept mumbling that the seed was strong, whatever that meant. Not two weeks later, he died in his sleep."

"Are you saying Jon was poisoned, father?" Harry asked, surprised.

"I'm not sure, lad, Grand Maester Pycelle said he wasn't, but he's Lannister, through and through," Robert answered.

"You can't be accusing the Lannisters?" Eddard questioned, aghast at the thought.

"As I said, I don't know. Stannis might, but one some reason or another he left for Storm's End, shortly after I left for here."

Robert let out a deep sigh, "Look, I want you to be the Hand, Ned, and Harry, I want you to come with us to the capital for your sixteenth nameday, before you ride for Dragonstone. If it is the Lannisters making a play for the Iron Throne, then we need to marshal as many loyal men as we can."

"As you wish, father," Harry grudgingly acquiesced. He didn't want to leave his father and uncle alone like that, but respected his father's decision.

"Another thing, Harry. How loyal are the forces stationed at, and the Houses sworn to, Dragonstone?" his father asked.

Harry was momentarily taken aback by the question, but hastened to answer, "Ser Nathaniel continues to serve loyally as my castellan, and I personally meet with the men in service there, on a semi-regular basis. I'm unware if there's any dissent amongst the Lords sworn to Dragonstone, but they seemed fine when I visited six months ago. They have no love of Lannisters, I know that much, however."

"Good, Ned and his family are kin, so they won't rise against you, and I'm sure Cat's family will support you, so you won't want for allies."

"Father, you speak as if civil war is upon us?"

Robert snorted, "I wouldn't be surprised. My gods-damned second wife is constantly trying to push more Lannisters into key positions in court, and she even had the gall to suggest Joffrey would make a better heir than you would. Ha! As if.

"I didn't fight and win a war, only to see the kingdoms fall into another, not even fifteen years afterwards," Robert continued, he then turned to the tomb of Lyanna Stark, his face full of sorrow, "Did you have to bury her in a place like this? She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her."

"She was my sister. This is where she belongs," Eddard replied.

"She belonged with me. In my dreams, I kill him every night." Robert said.

"It's done, Your Grace. The Targaryens are gone," Eddard said.

"Not all of them," Robert said in anger.

Harry knew what he was talking about. The two remaining Targaryens were in Essos trying to amass an army to take back the throne. He let out a soft sigh. ' _Winter is coming,_ ' he thought, darkly.

* * *

A long way from the freezing winds of the North, in warm city of Pentos was the vast estate of Illyrio Mopatis. Ostensibly, it was called a manse, but in reality, it was more of a fortress. The walls were lined with Unsullied eunuchs; silent guardsmen whose loyalty was first and foremost to the wealthy magister.

Currently the stronghold played host to the last living children of the Mad King, Aerys II; Viserys and Daenerys. They had lived at the estate for nearly half a year, eating the magisters food, and pampered by his servants. And yet, while the treatment was not unwelcome, Daenerys Stormborn couldn't help but be suspicious of the Pentoshi's motives. At thirteen years old, she was well aware that such gifts did not come freely, especially in the Free Cities.

"Is really this for me?" Dany asked, as she held an elegant gown her brother gave her.

"Yes, sweet sister," Viserys replied, smirking, "A gift from the magister. It will bring out the colour of your eyes, he says."

"It's so beautiful," Dany then whispered.

The smirk on self-styled Viserys III widened further, "Quite. Tonight, you will look like the princess you were born to be."

A princess. Viserys still retained memories of the time he lived a life of luxury. For Dany, the life she and her brother currently lived, was all she ever knew.

"Why does he help us, brother?" Dany couldn't help but ask, "What does he stand to gain?"

A flicker of what Dany assumed to be pride, went through Viserys' eyes, as he smiled, somewhat condescendingly.

"Illyrio is no fool, sister," he replied, "He knows I do not forget the ones who aided me. He knows that when I come to my birth right, I will rewarded him justly.

"Thanks to the Magister's connections, I have found you a husband who will grant me an army to retake Westeros from the Usurper and his bastard son," Viserys went on, "forty thousand men strong. And with the Targaryen Loyalists in the Seven Kingdoms, the time of our return is now!"

Dany wanted to ask another question, but knew from prior experience that interrupting Viserys when he began to spin the tale of his dreams. ' _Waking the Dragon_ ', Viserys called it, whenever he lost his temper. Her brother then hung the gown before turning to Dany once more.

"Ilyrio will send slaves to bathe you," Viserys informed her, "You need to look your best for when Khal Drogo comes."

Dany's breath hitched at the mention of her would-be husband. She had read about khals. Vicious horse lords, who raped, pillaged and burned without a care. Fortunately for her, Viserys made no notice of her hesitation as he studied Dany carefully.

"Stand straight!" he barked, causing Dany to flinch, "Don't slouch. Let them see you are a woman grown now."

He the gently caressed Dany's face with a serene smile. Without warning however, the smile morphed into a snarl as he harshly gripped Dany's neck.

"You will not fail me, sister," Viserys growled, "If you do, you will not like what will happen. You will get me my army!"

"Ye…Yes, your Grace," Dany choked out.

Viserys promptly let go. He resumed caressing Dany face, and smiled once more, "Good. Years from now, they will write that this night was the night it all began."

With that, Viserys left. Once the door closed, Dany collapsed to her knees. Tears dripped down a cheek, while she silently wept. As she did so, she prayed that someone, anyone, would come save her from this living nightmare.

* * *

The festivities were at an all-time high. Wine and ale was drunk while food came out of the kitchen. The people were talking and drinking their troubles away. Robert sat at the head table alongside his second wife, next to Eddard.

Below them men ate, and drank. A fair few left with serving maids to continue their drunken debauchery in a more private setting. Harry sat in between his father and half-brother, mostly engaging in conversation with the King, but occasionally attempting to draw Joffrey into the topic, only to receive a sneer. Sighing, Harry turned to look at the crowd, and frowned slightly. Jon was missing. Earlier his Aunt had told Jon to sit the furthest away from the high table and honoured guests, so as to not offend the Royal Family. Which failed miserably, considering Harry was offended that one of his two most favourite cousins was not present.

"Excuse me, father. I grow…weary of the festivities," Harry said, rising from his chair.

Robert turned to face his son, "Ah, so be it. Find a wench to warm your bed then, boy."

Wrinkling his nose as the crassness of his father's blunt statement, Harry politely excused himself, and left the hall. Once he entered the courtyard, he found Jon slashing away at a wooden training mannequin.

"Is it dead yet?" Harry asked, in a teasing voice.

Jon spun around in surprise, "Harry, what in the seven hells are you doing here?"

"Got bored of the feast. Took offense that Aunt Catelyn sat you away from everyone else. Completely the opposite of what she intended, I s'pose."

Picking up a blunted training sword, Harry stood to guard, "C'mon, lets a have spar."

Shrugging slightly, Jon stood opposite his cousin. Crossing swords for brief while, Harry and Jon engaged in a topic that wasn't new to the either of them.

"So…still bent on joining the Night's Watch?" Harry asked.

"Aye…you know this, what of it?" Jon replied.

"As much as I want the Wall to have men with the quality you do, I still think you could do better, Jon."

Jon looked furious, "There is no better! The Wall is the only place bastards like me can go. The only place when I can make something of myself, something other than Eddard Stark's bastard!"

As he said this, Jon's sword strokes became harder and less disciplined. Harry kept up, hardly breaking a sweat.

"Are you so sure," he returned, "It sounds nothing more than childishness to me. A poor attempt to make your father proud."

Disarming Jon, who overreached in his anger, Harry knocked him over and raised his own blade to Jon's neck.

"Uncle Eddard is proud of you Jon, regardless of your status, and irrespective of what you do. It matters little to him. As long as you're his son, he won't stop being proud of you," Harry informed him gently.

Lowering his sword and offering a hand up, Harry continued, "Jon, if this is truly what you want, then I won't stop you, but there are so many other ways to go about making something of yourself.

"You could be a sellsword in Essos, fighting for the likes of the Golden Company or the Second Sons. You could squire for a knight in the South, hell you could become one for one of the Wolfsguard."

Accepting the hand, Jon pondered the last offer, "A squire? Is that even allowed? I'm a bastard."

"Who gives a shit, cousin? Ser Eyron is a bastard, and he leads my Wolfsguard. Not to mention Edric is my squire. You'd do well at the Wall, of that there is no doubt, but you could do so much more. Be so much more!" Harry stated with conviction, "Accept my offer, and you would no longer be a Snow, but I would grant you a name, and lands in the south."

Jon considered this before looking at his older cousin, straight in the eye, murmuring, "It would be a lot better than swearing of marriage and women for the rest of my life."

"Ha! I've seen the way you looked at my sister, Jon," Harry said laughing, as he lifted his right arm.

Jon blushed at being called out but grabbed Harry's arm in a firm grip, "I swear, on the Old Gods and New, to be your loyal sword, now and forever more."

"Good. Tomorrow, I'll see to asking Ser Eyron or one of the others to formally accept you as a squire. Father and Uncle Eddard will be informed too. I have no doubt you'll be knighted within a year or two, Jon. You're just about the best swordsman of our age, behind me anyway."

Jon smiled, happy that his fortune was turning around. Before he could thank his cousin, behind them someone was clapping.

"Something interesting just happened, I see," a deep gravelly voice called out to the two cousins. Turning around to face the newcomer, they both grinned.

"Uncle Benjen!" Harry and Jon called out in unison.

The First Ranger of the Night's Watch approached his nephews, embracing them in greeting.

Benjen Stark, the youngest of the Stark siblings, had always had a desire to join the Watch, considering that he didn't stand to inherit anything, both before and after the Rebellion. He was dressed in the customary warm, black furs of the Watch, and had a neatly trimmed beard and shoulder length hair. He finished off the look with a longsword strapped to his waist.

Still chuckling he regarding the sons of his brother and sister respectively.

"I rode all day, not wanting to leave you all to the tender mercies of the Lannisters,"he explained, "Why are you both out here?"

"Lady Stark thought it an insult if I were to sit with the Royal Family. Like always," Jon said, bitterness coating his tone. Benjen sighed with a nod.

"And I grew weary of the feast. Too…fancy for my liking," Harry informed his uncle.

Benjen smiled slightly, then turned to face Jon.

"According to what I just heard, though. It seems like you won't be a Snow for much longer, Jon. Something to look forward to, hm?" Jon allowed a small smile himself, before nodding, "Well, I best get inside, and rescue Ned from his guests."

Patting the duo on the shoulder, he turned and walked off into the great hall.

"So, your uncle is in the Night's Watch, I see."

The cousins turned around to see a short man strut towards them, sipping on a flask of what Harry assumed to be wine. The man turned to stare at them before looking off into the hall where the feast was happening.

"I've always wanted to see the Wall."

"Uncle Tyrion?" Harry asked. He hadn't seen the man in nearly five years.

"Ah, hello my Prince," the now named Tyrion greeted.

Harry and Tyrion weren't even related by blood, but the dwarf was just about the only Lannister Harry respected. Enough so that he would address him by the familial term. In return, Harry was one of the few people Tyrion trusted without reserve, and genuinely liked.

"What're you doing there?" Jon asked.

"Preparing for a night with your family," the man replied as he took another sip from his flask, "You must be Lord Stark's bastard."

Jon grit his teeth and made to walk away.

"Did I offend you, sorry," Tyrion apologized, "You are the bastard, though."

Harry shot Tyrion a warning look as Jon replied, "Lord Eddard Stark is my father."

"And Lady Stark is not your mother. Judging by your eyes, I'd say a Dayne was your mother. That would make you the bastard."

Jon looked away, has Harry frowned. Tyrion walked up to the pair.

"Let me give you some advice, bastard," Tyrion began, "Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Where it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you."

Tyrion then walked away, but Jon tried to get the last word in, "What the hell do you know about being a bastard?"

The Lannister dwarf turned back to face Jon, and in that brief moment, he seemed to stand taller than any other man Jon and Harry had seen, "All dwarves are bastard in their father's eyes."

Taking a sip from his flask, Tyrion walked in the general direction of the great hall.

"Quite the odd fellow, isn't he?" Jon said lightly. Harry chuckled.

"You meet odder people," Harry quipped, "I guess we'll finish up now. Father will no doubt want to go on a hunt, and I promised Bran I would help him with his archery."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, Harry," Jon said before heading towards his quarters.

* * *

It the Lord and Lady's quarters, Catelyn had just laid down and snuggled warmly into her husband's arms. As she laid on Eddard's chest, listening to his heart beat, Eddard began speaking.

"What do you think Cat?" he asked, "I belong here with you, but at the same time Robert would only ask me if he had no one else to turn to. He knows well enough, that I am no politician."

"It is the highest honour the King could grant anyone," Catelyn stated firmly, "Besides, who else could take the role? His brother? Tywin Lannister?"

"If he ever considered his brother, he would never have journeyed here, even to see his son," Eddard retorted, with a snort, "And I highly doubt Robert would ever consider Tywin Lannister."

"If you refuse him, you'll need to need to offer something as an apology," Catelyn warned, "Perhaps wedding Sansa to Prince Joffrey?"

"No. Harry was firm when I proposed the match myself, and I trust my nephew's judgement. He is not one to allow pettiness to cloud his thoughts over such a significant matter as Sansa's potential suitor," Eddard stated.

Catelyn frowned, as she shifted slightly. Before she could reply to her husband, however, there was a knock at the door.

Eddard called for their visitor, as he released his hold on Catelyn, who got out of bed and made to open the door. Standing in the hallway was Maester Luwin.

"I am sorry my lord, my lady," he apologised, bowing to then, "A rider came, during the feast. It's from your sister, my lady."

"From the Eyrie?" she said in confusion as she examined the seal, "Why would she be there, and not the Capital?"

"What does she say?" Eddard asked her, rising from the bed.

Catelyn didn't answer right away. Her eyes carefully scanning each line again. Her sister had written the letter in a code that their shared in their youth, and what she wrote was alarming. She looking up seeing the confused look of the master and her husband. Snapping out of her wayward thoughts, she marched up to the fire and tossed the letter into it.

"Cat?" Eddard asked again, concern and frustration colouring in his voice.

"She says Jon Arryn was murdered," she told him, her eyes darting between him and the Maester.

"What?!" Eddard said at once.

"She has fled the Capitol! She says she doesn't try anyone there, as Stannis has left for Storm's End."

Eddard paled. This was worrying. Who in the name of the Gods would want to kill Jon Arryn? And more importantly, why?

"Who?" he managed then and Catelyn glanced uneasily between him and the Maester again.

"The Lannister's," she told him quietly and Maester Luwin's eyes widened.

"By the Gods, Robert warned me about this," Eddard said, bringing a hand to his face.

"She's certain Ned!" she insisted.

"I don't doubt you, nor your sister, but I can't just go to the King and accuse the Lannisters, based on hearsay."

"If this is true then the King could be in danger," Luwin then said, giving the Lord Stark a look. Eddard nodded slightly at what Maester Luwin was implying.

"Ned," Catelyn said at once, seeing the look, "That does not mean you need to go! If they killed the last Hand, what's stopping them from killing you?"

"My Lady…Lord Stark may be the only man who can save the King," Luwin implored.

"And put himself in danger as well?! Ned, Brandon went to South, your father and sister too. None of them came back. Please. Don't go…" she almost begged him.

"Would you leave us, please, Maester Luwin?" Eddard finally spoke.

"Of course my Lord, my Lady," he bowed to both of the, before existing their quarters.

Eddard turned slowly to face his wife and she could see his decision in his eyes. Catelyn shook her head slightly.

"Can I say nothing?" she questioned him softly.

"I'm going Cat…the children will come too," he told her.

"Ned…"

"All but Robb…a Stark must always remain at Winterfell," he went on.

"Even Rickon?!"

"I suppose he is a little young…" Eddard conceded.

"He needs to be with me," she insisted.

"Very well, but Bran and the girls are coming with me."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well, Happy New Year to you all, I hope you had a great holiday. I just want to say a massive thank you to all those of you who followed or favourited this story. It give me great confidence. And thank you to those who reviewed as well.

You'll also notice a few changes to Chapter 2, which I made at the suggestion of a review from **Harrie**.

For those of you who haven't realised, this Ros, is a combination of Ros from the show, and Mhaegan, who was the mother of Robert's youngest bastard Barra. I wanted to try something different, so I thought 'Why not make Harry a father?' and went with it.

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to leave them in a review, or PM me.

Hopefully, I'll see you next week, but I am unsure, as Exams are coming up for me.

* * *

 **Updates (If any)**

 _17/4/16, 15:07 local time -_ Added the scene with Dany and Viserys. No particular reason, but it seemed appropriate with Robert's statement about the Last Targaryens


	4. Duels, Presents and the Parting of Ways

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

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 **~ Chapter 4- Duels, Presents and the Parting of Ways ~**

* * *

The morning that followed the Welcoming Feast, saw the princes, and the heirs of Winterfell in the yard practicing their swordplay under the strict watch of the master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel.

Harry stood to the side of the sparring circle, Robb and Theon standing either side, with Edric and Jon a little way behind him. The Wolfsguard were nearby, tending to their swords and armour, while a few Lannister men loitered about, no doubt guarding Joffrey, who stood by his Dog. In the circle stood Bran and Tommen, both wearing thick padding, and clutching wooden swords. Considering that they were huffing for air, and sweaty all over, it was clear that they had been at it for quite some time.

After Bran managed to knock Tommen over, Ser Rodrik called them to stand down.

Hoisting up the Third Prince of the Realm, he called to the others standing by, "Prince Joffrey, Robb. Another round?"

Robb moved forward eagerly, "Of course."

"This game is for children," the blond haired prince replied, in a bored tone.

Theon barked out a laugh, "You are a child," he said derisively.

"Robb is a child. I am a prince," Joffrey fired back condescendingly, "And I grow weary of swatting play swords with Starks. I propose live steel."

"Done," Robb immediately agreed, before Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, a lazy smirk adorning his face.

"Now, now, cousin, let's not be hasty," he said, "Joffrey has never used live steel in a duel in his life. Don't be fooled by his posturing."

Joffrey almost immediately reddened at the insult, "How dare you! I am a prince!"

"And I am the Crown Prince. So, that puts you below me in the pecking order. Although, if you want to duel with live steel, I suppose I could indulge my little brother," Harry replied, with a challenging grin.

Here, Joffrey faltered. Harry was well known to be one of the best swordsmen of his age, and was a cert for knighthood upon reaching his sixteenth nameday later in the year. Stuttering slightly, he started to respond before Harry interrupted him.

"See what I mean, cousin. Pure posturing. Oh, he carries a live steel blade, but I highly doubt he knows how to use it. Prefers the softer option of a crossbow," the Crown Prince mocked.

"Bah, I don't need to hear this. Dog, we're leaving," Joffrey stormed off, while Theon and Robb sniggered.

Ser Rodrik took it upon himself to return order, "Right, who wants a turn then? Prince Haraldr?"

Harry shrugged. Glancing upwards towards a covered bridge, he spotted Arya, Sansa and Myrcella watching from a window. Slowly, an idea formed in his head, and he internally grinned.

"Snow, Stark!" he barked, "Front and centre!"

"My Prince! Are you sure?" the master-at-arms objected, looking towards Jon.

Harry blinked at the grizzled knight, looking puzzled for a brief moment. He and Jon sparred all the time. It soon came to him that Ser Rodrik was worried what the outcome would be, if Jon seriously bruised Harry.

"Never mind that, Ser Rodrik. If Jon lays a hit on me, it's because he's of superior quality, and I'll gladly surrender to his skill. That said, I'll make him work for it," Harry sent a challenging smirk at his cousin, daring him to rise to the call.

"So be it," Ser Rodrik said, "First to three touches? Or Submission?"

"I'm thinking submission, Ser Rodrik. Robb, Jon?"

"Agreed," the brothers stated.

Around the courtyard, many men-at-arms gathered to watch the Crown Prince duel both his cousins simultaneously. Included in the crowd were the remaining Stark and Baratheon families, as well as the Kingsguard.

"Very well, stand ready."

Drawing the blunted versions of his hand-and-a half and short swords he readied his guard, while Robb held a hand-and-a half sword and shield combination. Jon favoured a bastard sword in both his hands.

"Begin!" Ser Rodrik commanded.

Immediately, Robb and Jon leaped for Harry, clashing both their swords against Harry's. However, Harry held them both back, with his superior strength, before stepping back, to force his cousins into losing their balance. However, it only worked on Robb, while Jon managed to instinctively regain his footing. The Crown Prince made to press his advantage over the Stark heir, but was forced to retreat when Jon defended his half-brother.

Robb stepped back, allowing Jon and Harry to face each other. Harry pressed on Jon, his swords flashing in a deadly dance. The strength of the blows that rained upon Jon forced him to go on the defensive, with Harry unwilling to let up on the pressure. Seeing the opportunity, Robb made to intercept, but was surprised to see that Harry barely glanced at him, before shifting his off-hand blade into a reverse grip, and almost effortlessly parried away the offensive strike.

A second wind from the sons of Eddard Stark saw the Crown Prince fall back on the defensive, with the brothers playing off each other. That led to Harry having to put more effort into blocking the blows, and sure enough, he made a mistake in his footwork, stumbling slightly. Pressing the advantage, Robb managed to disarm Harry of his short sword, but Harry countered by forcing Robb to drop his shield.

It was Jon's turn to fall back, and allow his cousin and brother their turn. Here Harry changed strategy, and immediately fell on the defensive, content to allow Robb to attack him. The Baratheon then feinted, leading to Robb making an opening for Harry to exploit. And exploit it he did, pivoting around Robb, and smashing the pommel of his sword into Robb's blind spot, knocking the latter out, while a collective wince went around the courtyard.

Harry then turned to Jon, who had his sword at the ready, while a couple of Stark guardsmen carried Robb out of the circle. The cousins stood facing each other, silently gauging each other. It went on for a scant few minutes before a voice rang out.

"Get on with it!" Robert roared.

It was the signal they waited for, as Harry shot forward, his sword at the ready. Jon raised his own in a defence, matching Harry, blow for blow. Pivoting, Harry brought his off-hand for a swing at Jon's neck, to which the latter parried to the side, before bringing his own sword for an overhead chop at the Crown Prince. Recovering quickly, Harry brought his blade in a crisscross to block his cousin's blow before bringing up his right leg to kick Jon in the chest.

Jon fell back and rolled over, his sword discarded. He then drew his dagger in a reverse-grip and took a defensive stance. Harry, in the interest of fairness threw down his swords, and drew his own dagger, mirroring his cousin by also holding his weapon in a reverse grip. Exchange quick slices, and sharp jabs, the cousins continued their bout, which fast evolved from a simple spar, while the crowd began cheering, and placing bets, as though it was a tourney.

The two were evenly managed, neither side making way for the other, and neither showing any signs of tiredness. Eventually, Harry went for a killing blow to the neck, while Jon stabbed at Harry's kidney. Sir Rodrik called for a draw, but in the heat of the spar, neither opponent relented. Several gasps of horror spread through the crowd, while others held theirs in bated breath, only for all of them to relax in relief as the cousins' adrenaline fuelled spar came to a close with a stalemate; Harry had his dagger pressed at the side of Jon's neck while Jon held Harry's right wrist with his left hand. Jon, in turn, had his dagger at Harry's right kidney, who also held on to Jon's arm with his own hand.

Harry smirked, which was mirrored by Jon. They both pulled back, as the crowd roared in approval. The Warden of the North, and the King both approached the sparring circled, the latter booming in laughter, while the former was more restrained, but no less proud of his son and nephew.

"That was excellent!" Robert boomed, "A fine contest from both of you!"

"Indeed, I am unsurprised it was a draw. Both of you an incomparable with the sword, within your age group," Eddard added.

Both cousins grinned at the praise. Behind them a groan was heard. Turning to the noise, one Robb Stark woke up.

"Had a nice nap, cousin?" Harry drawled, with a wide grin.

"I swear to the gods, Harry, you hit me hard on purpose," Robb moaned, or rather whined, "Is it really that necessary?"

Harry laughed, "Of course. If it didn't hurt, you wouldn't have the inclination to dodge the next time."

Robb let out a muffled curse, as both the King and Lord Stark chortled at the Crown Prince's reasoning.

"Well, this has been fun, but I need to clean up, lest Aunt Catelyn rage at me for looking scruffy," Harry informed his family, before excusing himself.

As he walked towards his chambers, he idly noted that his sister made to follow, so he slowed his pace, to allow Myrcella to catch up.

"That was amazing, Harry!" she gushed, with a wide smile, "I knew you were good with a sword, but I didn't know you could fight two versus one."

"Thank you, dear sister," Harry smiled, "It took some effort, but truthfully, I only did as well as I did, because I know how Robb and Jon fight. In normal combat, I wouldn't be so reckless."

The princess let out and unladylike snort, "Don't fool me with your faux-modesty. It doesn't suit you."

Harry laughed in response, "You always could see through me 'Cella," he chuckled, "Shouldn't you have been with the septa? Why were you watching us spar?"

Myrcella huffed, "You know that I dislike needlework!" she said, smacking Harry's arm, "Your cousin, Arya, was of the same mind, so I more or less ordered Septa Mordane to finish early so we could watch you spar."

"Bet Sansa wasn't pleased," Harry stated, with a smirk. His third oldest cousin was of a gentle sort.

"Not really, but she daren't say anything to contradict me. Almost as if she's afraid of me, or something," Myrcella pouted, "Am I that scary?"

Harry choked back a laugh, "Sister, you're about as intimidating as a fish."

"Harry!"

"Sorry, sorry," Harry apologised, raising his arms, "Sansa takes after her mother, and the southern ways. Arya, on the other hand, is more of the north. It's a source of friction, unfortunately."

"A pity," Myrcella replied, "I wish I had a sister. Joffrey and Tommen are about a loving as Mother is to Uncle Tyrion."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Harry snorted, "Our brothers are far too coddled by your mother."

"One could argue we are spoiled rotten by father, brother," Myrcella chided, "Anyway, you were telling me about Sansa."

"Sansa has eyes to marry Joffrey," Harry explained, "She has dreams of becoming a Princess and the like."

"What?" Myrcella gasped in surprised, "Why on earth would she want that?"

Harry chuckled, "Sansa has a rather…romantic view of the southern kingdoms, shall we say. She never really grew out of it, and Aunt Catelyn encourages her by making promises of marrying her to some Great House in the South."

"Hmph, if she ever comes to King's Landing, she'll realise what folly that line of thought is."

The pair reached Harry's chambers.

"Listen, let me get cleaned, up, and then we can go out for a ride into the Wolfswood, it'll give us a chance to talk properly. Sound good?" Harry asked.

"I think that would be lovely. Mother would disapprove, but father will allow it," his sister replied.

Harry snorted, "Since when have I cared what that woman thinks? Find Edric, if you will. Tell him to inform my Wolfsguard that we're riding out."

"Yes, dear brother," Myrcella said, with a smile.

A few hours later, and the siblings were camped out at a nearby ruined watchtower. The Wolfsguard had managed to track and kill a deer, which was subsequently cooked. Accompanying Harry, Myrcella, and the former's usual retinue, were Jon and Arya.

Jon had joined, as part of his duties as a squire, whereas Arya had managed to weasel on to the trip after a carefully placed pout at her father. The former however, was a little way off, training with Ser Eyron.

"What is this place?" the eldest daughter of Robert Baratheon asked.

"No one knows its name," Harry answered, "Maester Luwin always told me that this tower was last manned during the Age of Heroes."

"Age of Heroes?" Myrcella repeated with a questioning look.

"You don't know about the Age of Heroes?" Arya asked in shock.

"Now, now, cousin, those in the South care little for pre-Andal Invasion History. It doesn't have much significance to them," Harry said.

"But what is the Age of Heroes?" Myrcella asked.

"Well, it's a period of Westerosi History where many of the Noble Houses were first established. Take the first King of Winter, Bran the Builder, for instance. He was said to have built both the Wall and Winterfell both," Harry began to explain, "Then, there is Lann the Clever, who swindled the seat of Casterly Rock from House Casterly.

"Garth Greenhand, who is supposedly the common ancestor of many Houses in the Reach. Durran Godsgrief, whose legend states that he married a daughter of the sea god. The Age was also when the Long Night took place, when the Night's Watch stood against white walkers. There are many stories of the time, if one cares to listen," Harry finished.

"The white walkers," Myrcella stated, "Aren't they a myth?"

"Perhaps, but all myths are base of some tiny shred of fact."

"Hm, if you say so," Myrcella replied, but remained somewhat unconvinced. Her face then morphed into a playful smile, "This little bit of information might be of interest of you, brother."

"Oh, and what's that?" Harry asked before take a sip of wine from his flask.

"Apparently, Uncle Renly is trying to break your betrothal and instead match you with Margaery Tyrell."

Almost immediately Harry jerked back with a spit take.

"What?!"

"I know, I was surprised too," Mrycella said, as Arya giggled at Harry's reaction, "After my betrothal to Willas Tyrell fell through, for which I actually thank my mother, Uncle Renly tried very hard to convince father that a union with House Tyrell would benefit the realm."

"But why? What's Uncle Renly's stake in such a union?" Harry asked.

"Well…From the gossip amongst the servants, I heard that Uncle Renly might have taken Ser Loras Tyrell as a lover."

"Um, what?" Arya asked, stupefied, as Harry choked back a laugh

"I know, it was my reaction too," Myrcella told her friend, "Ser Loras was a page and squire for Uncle Renly, when the former was fostered at Storm's End. From what I remember Uncle Stannis was furious. He still holds a grudge against Lord Tyrell, over the Siege during the Rebellion."

"Uncle Stannis holds a grudge over the smallest of slights," Harry sighed, "He still glares at Edric whenever he sees him.

"Well, whatever," Harry groused, "I'm not breaking my betrothal. Its existence is partly why the realm is in a stable state."

"If you say so brother," Myrcella said in a sing-song voice, to which Harry weakly glared her.

There was a companionable silence amongst the group, before Jon joined the trio.

"A rider from Winterfell just came. Lord Stark wants us to return before it gets too dark," he informed them.

* * *

The next day, the King, Eddard and everyone else were preparing for a hunt. While Jon and Robb were going, Harry opted against it, instead training Bran with the bow, as he sometimes did, in his spare time.

"What do you see when you draw an arrow, Bran?" Harry posed the question, after seeing his Bran's erratic accuracy.

"What?" Bran gave his cousin a perplexed look, confused by what Harry was asking.

"What do you see? What do you focus on, when you take a shot?"

Bran was stumped. He hesitantly answered, but the upward lilt towards the end made it sound like a question, "The training mannequin?"

"Are you asking, or telling?"

"Telling," Bran answered, firmly.

Harry let out a loose sigh, but chucked, to which Bran flushed, "You make the same mistake, just about every novice makes, including your older brothers," he said before, ruffling his younger cousin's head, "When taking a shot, you need to focus on exactly where you want the arrow to go. To make the target as small as possible.

"It's harder at longer distances, when you need to start thinking about angles, but at this range, just focus on the chest," Harry explained as he drew his bow. He then fired and the arrow stuck cleanly at the location of the heart, "Now you try."

Bran nocked an arrow and lightly held the string. Focussing entirely on the chest of the target, he pulled the string back. Taking a deep breath to steady his arm, Bran vision became tunnelled. He then let go, and breathed outwards. Sure enough, the arrow struck the chest. Not exactly where he was aiming, the heart, but it was still the chest.

"Well done! That was good," Harry congratulated with a wide smile, patting Bran on the back, "Now, a bit more practice, and you'll perfect it in no time."

The pair continued to practice, and it was in the corner of his eye, that Harry saw his step-mother and the Kingslayer walk together, looking ever so slightly ruffled. Harry then narrowed his eyes in thought.

' _The Kingslayer has the look of a man who's just bedded someone_ ,' Harry thought.

He was distracted from his musings by Bran's voice calling out to him.

"Did you really take Jon into your service?" he asked.

"Ah, heard about that, did you," Harry replied.

"Yeah, he was talking about it to Robb and father. He was really excited," Bran told his cousin, with his typical boyish exuberance.

"Aye. Jon was quite set on joining the Wall, but I changed his mind," Harry said.

"Yeah. I'm dead jealous, though," Bran grumbled, pouting ever so slightly.

"Why's that, little cousin?" Harry queried.

"I really want to be a knight!" Bran all but shouted, "I want to ride in jousts, and win tourneys!"

Harry chuckled, "Why not ask your mother if you can squire for your uncle, Ser Edmure? I'm sure he'd be happy to take you on. Or even your grand-uncle, Ser Brynden the Blackfish."

"Really? You think I could?" Bran asked, excitedly.

"Now, now, little cousin, it's up to your mother. You know what she's like," Harry replied.

Bran was interrupted from saying any further, as the Royal Hunting party returned, baring a variety of game.

"C'mon lets go see what they caught," Harry said, putting away his equipment and making Bran do the same.

The pair approached their respective fathers as they dismounted their horses. Robert was the first to spot them.

"Harry! And young Brandon! You missed an excellent hunt!" he boomed.

Harry lightly smiled, "I'm certain it was. However, I'm also sure that you'll more than likely drag me off to another hunt in the Kingswood. So allow me to spend as much time as I can with my cousins, father."

Robert simply boomed in laughter again, "Ah, you know me too well," he commented.

"Indeed I do. Anyway, Uncle Eddard, Bran has something he wishes to ask of you," Harry stated.

"Oh, and what's that?" the Lord of Winterfell asked.

"Oh, um. It's nothing," Bran shyly stated before Harry lightly bopped him on the head.

"It most certainly isn't," he chastised, "Bran here is jealous that Jon is to become Ser Eyron's squire, and wishes to become one himself."

Turning to face his uncle, Harry continued, "He is old enough, and instead of bringing him to the capital where he will have little to do, why not have Bran squire with Ser Brynden Tully?"

Eddard eyebrows rose at the request. Scratching his beard, he answered, "I don't see why not. Cat knows your coming south, and I think she might like to have you with her sister and nephew in the Vale."

Bran's eyes shone with excitement, "Truly?"

Harry, however, noted that his uncle's smiled tightened at the mention of the Vale. Meanwhile, Eddard continued.

"Yes, truly. Though you'll have to tell your mother the news, lest she packs for the capital, and not the Eyrie. I'll send off a raven to Ser Brynden, and I'm sure he won't refuse you," he said.

Bran ran off, no doubt to tell his mother the news. And just about anyone else who would be willing to listen. After watching his cousin run off, Harry turned to face his uncle and father.

"So, what's got you all tense about the Vale?" he asked.

If anything Lord Stark's mouth tightened further, while the King looked off to the side.

"Your father, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to name the Kingslayer as Warden of the East," Eddard bit out tersely.

"What!? Father, what in the name of the gods possessed you to make such an asinine decision?" Harry asked in outrage, "Not only is the Kingslayer a member of the Kingsguard, which is a whole different thing altogether, but he's a Lannister!"

"Asinine? ASININE! You don't get to talk to me like that, boy!" Robert roared, equally outraged at the Crown Prince's tone, "I am the King, and you will respect me and my decisions!"

"And I'm the Crown Prince! I'm my duty to ensure you don't make stupid mistakes!" Harry shouted back, "I'm not some mindless sycophant who'd go as far as to lick the shit out of your arse for the sake of gaining some favour from you!"

The father-son duo stubbornly glared at each other. Neither side giving way to the other. The Warden of the North stood to the side, wanting to keep the peace, but looking unsure as to how to go about doing that.

Eventually, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms lost his glare, and slowly started to laugh. The Crown Prince blinked in the surprise at the change in mood, but then also started to laugh.

"Hah, this is what I need. Someone willing to say no to me," Robert stated, "I'm looking forward to having you back in the capital, if only for a limited time."

Nodding, the king walked off. Eddard looked slightly bewildered, but made to follow his friend before he was halted by his nephew.

"Uncle, may I ask why you plan on taking Sansa and Arya to the capital?"

Eddard blinked at the question, "I thought that they might want to see more of the Kingdoms?"

"That's all well and good Uncle, but what is the real reason?" Harry asked once more, before moving in closer, "We both know it isn't safe for them."

Eddard's face hardened slightly, "I thought it obvious, nephew. I need to act as naturally as possible, else people might cast suspicions on us."

Harry blinked owlishly, "Oh…I hadn't thought of that," he slowly said.

Eddard chuckled, "For all your intelligence and shrewdness, you still have much to learn. I'll see you soon, nephew."

* * *

It was a few days later that Harry and Jon found Arya packing in preparation for the journey south. Earlier, the pair had commission Mikken, Winterfell's resident blacksmith to forge some blades as gifts for Arya, and while they could have given the blades to Arya at any time before they all reached the capital, Harry felt it best to give them when Arya was packing, so that she could hide them.

As they entered, the cousins found Arya emptying, and repacking her belongings.

"Septa Mordane says I have to do it again," Arya sullenly explained, "My things weren't properly folded, she said.

"Who cares how they're folded," she grumbled, as Harry and Jon exchanged looks of amusement, "They're going to get messed up anyway."

"It's good that you have help then," Harry said, mirth filling his eyes.

"Watch. Nymeria, gloves," Arya ordered.

The direwolf merely looked at her mistress. Arya nodded her head slightly, to which Nymeria merely whined.

"Impressive," Jon commented in deadpan, while Harry snorted.

"Shut up," Arya snapped before repeating with more force, "Nymeria. Gloves."

This time Nymeria cocked her head.

"Right, before this becomes a mummer's show, we have something to give you," Harry said, "And they have to be packed, very carefully."

"A present?" Arya asked, with a smile.

"Of a kind. Close the door," Jon said.

Arya went behind the close the door, as Harry walked to the bed to unwrap the bundle in his arms. Holding a sword in his arms, its length about the same as Arya's arm. The blade was slightly curved, with a single edge. The handle was of dark ebony, and lacked a cross guard.

"This is Wolf's Claw," Harry informed his cousin, "I had Mikken smith it for you. You'll never be able to fight like a knight, but I feel that this will suit you nicely."

Jon stepped up next, holding a curved dagger, with a similar handle as the sword.

"And this is Wolf's Tooth," Jon stated.

"These aren't toys, Arya," Harry warned, "So be careful, when you handle them. I've sent a raven to a Braavosi Water Dancer. While you are at the capital, he will instruct you in swordplay. I've already spoken to Uncle Eddard, and he has permitted you to learn the Water Dance, so I expect you to work hard at it."

"I will! I promise!" Arya replied in exuberance, "I'll pack these away! Thank you so much, Jon. Harry!"

She hugged them both, hard, before resuming her packing with renewed gusto. Smiles on their faces, Harry and Jon retreated from the young girl's room, heading off to pack their own belongings.

Seeing that no one was actively searching for him, Harry made to have one last visit to Ros and Lya. He found the pair at their small cottage in Winter town, where Ros was feeding their daughter.

Glancing upwards, Ros smiled at the Crown Prince.

"Come to see us one last time before you go?" she asked teasingly.

Harry laughed, "Should I not?" he asked in return.

Setting their daughter down, Ros got up to hug her lover, "No. I'm glad. Who knows when we'll see each other next?

"Though, won't you be seeing your betrothed, soon?" she asked.

"Oh, jealous?" Harry teased, but grunted when being struck below the rib.

"You jest now, but what will happen if she finds out you have a bastard?"

Rubbing his abused body Harry gently rebuked Ros, "Don't call Lya a bastard. She's our daughter. She'll hear it enough without us calling her that.

"And anyway, my intended is not the type to begrudge anything that occurred before the official betrothal was announced. She's not like Lady Stark," Harry finished.

"If you say so," Ros said, clearly unconvinced.

Harry took her hands into his, "Hey, it'll be alright. I won't forget you. Either of you," he said, nodding to his sleeping daughter.

Ros smiled beatifically, "This maybe only a physical relationship, but I'm glad that you're a decent man, Harry. Now go, before you're missed!"

Harry nodded before kissing her goodbye, "Till next time."

* * *

The courtyard of Winterfell was full of people hastening to get on with their respective duties. It was also where those who were leaving the ancestral home of the Starks were gathering.

While Harry's personal entourage were getting ready, the Crown Prince approached the First Ranger of the Night's Watch, who was saddling his horse, in preparation to ride north with what few new recruits he had.

"Uncle Benjen, a word, if I may?" Harry said, walking up to the black brother.

"Of course, Harry. What is it?" Benjen replied, turning from his horse.

"You aren't going to like this, but I need a huge favour from you," Harry began, "My sources tell me that a new King-Beyond-The-Wall has been declared."

"Yes, I have heard the same," Benjen cautiously confirmed, "A traitor, Mance Rayder, leads the Free Folk."

"Right. Well, the other day, we caught a deserter. He said some things that have me concerned."

"Go on."

"He mentioned that he saw White Walkers," Harry bluntly stated.

Benjen blanched, "Those are just rumours! Myths!"

"You know as well as I, the Wall was never built to keep the Free Folk out," Harry started, narrowing his eyes, "Not a Wall of that scale at least, and Rayder wouldn't be gathering as many Free Folk as he has, if there wasn't some substance to this. All myths and legends have some semblance of truth"

"What would you have me do, Harry? Only three castles are manned, barely, at that. A Ranging would be suicide, too."

"What I want, Uncle Benjen, is for you to treat with Mance Rayder. Find out why he's gathered so many Free Folk, and see if there's any substance to the White Walkers," Harry said, trying to keep his voice low, "The Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of another Civil War, and they can ill afford to have an invasion from beyond the Wall.

"I need you to do this Uncle. I trust no one else of the Night's Watch, bar maybe Lord Commander Mormont, or Maester Aemon, and even then Mormont would be far too sceptical to even consider talking to Mance Rayder. This is imperative," he finished.

Benjen gave his nephew a hard look, one that was matched by the Crown Prince, though Harry wasn't ashamed to admit even he was slightly unnerved by his uncle's stare.

Eventually the Black Brother relented, and let out a loose sigh.

"Alright. I'll bring it up with Lord Commander Mormont, and track down Rayder. I will warn you though, that most Free Folk would be suspicious of us on sight, even if Rayder would be willing to talk, so don't remain hopeful that I could do as you ask."

"All I ask is that you try, Uncle. If I aim to be a King that mother would be proud of, then I must actively try to do what's best of the Seven Kingdoms," Harry replied, in earnest.

Benjen laughed, "You don't need to do anything to prove that Lya would be proud of you. She'd be proud no matter what you did, or do in the future."

"I know Uncle, but it's what drives me to be a good man."

"Aye nephew, Ned did right by you."

"On that we can agree. Anyway, I'll let you get on. Safe travels to you Uncle. I'll be stopping by Castle Black once I've finish with my visit to Dragonstone," Harry bade Benjen farewell before moving to his cousins, who were in the middle of exchanging their own farewells.

Approaching the two, he noted the pair were in a fairly tight embrace.

Deciding to have a bit of fun, Harry called out with a smirk, "Don't mind me. Carry on you two lovebirds."

The young men, both trueborn and baseborn immediately let go of each other. Harry's smirk widened when he saw that the brothers were blushing furiously at the insinuation.

"Have you no decency, cousin!" Robb asked.

"Must you ask?" Harry idly replied.

Robb opened his mouth to speak. Paused. Then closed his mouth. After a scant few seconds he made to speak again.

"Perhaps next time we see each other, you'll be King Haraldr I. And you Jon, a knight?" Robb offered.

"Not too soon, I pray," Harry smiled, before pulling his cousin in close, "Things in the south are not all the secure, cousin. I need you to be able to summon the banners, at a moment's notice."

Robb's eyes widened, "What? You think there might be war?" he whispered.

"If my father dies within the year, then I suspect the Lannisters will make a move for the throne. Can I count on your support?" the Crown Prince asked.

"Without a doubt, my prince," the Heir to the North formally replied.

"Then I shall take my leave, Young Lord Stark," Harry stated.

Smirking slightly, he went to his horse, Jon following, after his own final farewell.

"Things are moving quickly, Jon," Harry whispered to his cousin, "Far too quickly for my liking."

"Winter is coming," Jon stated grimly.

"Always with the pessimism, you are."

"…Shut up, Harry."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well, sorry for not updating yesterday. I had stuff to do. A couple of people have been asking, why Ned is taking his children south, and I hope the small scene with Harry explains why. It might look like a cop out, but it's how I explained it. Anyway, I have no clue if I can update next week, so for the foreseeable future, updates will be switched to every other week.

I made a few edits to earlier chapters, mostly spelling mistakes and the like, and I would really appreciate it, if people would tell me if they spot any. I can only spot so much.

Anyway, time to answer a few reviews:

 **Ataxius** : You'll just have to see what I have in store, but if you're interested, do a bit of research into non-identical twins, you might be able to figure out what I've done.

 **G27pazhuka** : Harry has kept the emerald coloured eyes from his first life. In chapter 1, I stated that he inherited them from his maternal grandmother. I picture Lannister green eyes as a more dull shade, and not jewel-like that Harry has.

 **Harrie** : Thank you very much for your review, and I will PM you for a more lengthy reply.

 **Agnar** : I made corrections as per what you noticed. As for Euron, I have plans for him.

 **Eyann85:** I dunno about slash, but I will be keeping the Renly/Loras pairing for however long it lasts. I'm not really comfortable writing such pairings beyond what is canon, and even then, I won't go into much depth. Sorry. As for Jon, well. No. He isn't.

 **Ssg1** : Sorry, I probably wasn't clear. Ros was a virgin, and didn't really want to be a whore. When she fell pregnant, Harry decided to move her North. Also, you're thinking of Moon Tea. In asoiaf, it's a contraceptive drink, but for the sake of the plot, just assume it didn't work or she forgot.

 **Justsumwhitedude** : Pairing is a secret for now.


	5. Skirmishes and entering the Snake Pit

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Chapter 5- Skirmishes and entering the Snake Pit ~**

* * *

A little over two weeks later, and the Royal Contingent, now including a complement of guards under Lord Stark, were camped by the Trident, not too far from where Robert killed Rhaegar.

While the King and his new Hand were off hunting, the Crown Prince had taken to accompany his sister and cousin, as they wished to see the place of the Bard Prince's death. Jon and Edric, however, were off handling their respective duties, and were not in a position to accompany them.

"Why are we here?" Harry asked, or, rather uncharacteristically, whined.

A simultaneous sigh came from both girls before Arya answered, "To find Rhaegar's Rubies."

"Putting aside the fact that it's been fifteen years since the Battle of the Trident and the rubies would be long since gone, I want to know why you even want rubies."

"Because!"

"Because?"

"Because!"

"Bec-Arya Stark, I am not doing this right now!" Harry yelled in consternation.

Arya, in turn, poked her tongue out, while Myrcella giggled at the antics of her cousin and her friend.

"Enough, both of you," she chided, "We're here."

"Sorry Your Highness," Harry sarcastically drawled, to which Myrcella slapped him on the arm, none to gently. Harry rubbed his abused arm, lightly glaring at Arya, who was laughing at his misfortune.

Arriving to the site of the historic duel between the cousins, the trio look around, while the due of direwolves ran off to play in the water.

"Ah, Fenrir, don't go too far!" Harry called out.

"You as well Nymeria!" Arya added.

The pair of direwolves turned to face their respective humans for a brief glance, before continued to jump about in the water.

"Pity Bran isn't here. Summer would've enjoyed being with his siblings," Arya said.

"Yes, well, I believe Ser Brynden can only spare so much time," Harry told his cousin, "He does have his duties in the Vale, after all."

The Blackfish had arrived shortly after the Royal Party, and left almost immediately, after sharing a few words with Lord Stark. Harry liked Ser Brynden. He was a no-nonsense man, who upheld the duties expected of a knight. After a major falling out with his brother, Lord Hoster, the Blackfish took up duties as the Knight of the Gate, so as to be close to his niece, the Lady Arryn.

"Why does Uncle Brynden live in the Vale?" Arya asked with a tilt of her head, "Surely he should be in Riverrun with Grandfather and Uncle Edmure?"

"Ah, that's a fairly interesting story," Harry commented, "Ser Brynden has what most men call 'a fear of commitment'."

"Oh? What's that then?" Myrcella inquired, "Some sort of male thing?"

Harry laughed, "You're not wrong. It's a term for men who don't wish to marry, but also don't want to go celibate."

The girls rolled their eyes, and looked to each other.

"Typical," they said in unison.

"Ah, it hardly matters, the woman Ser Brynden was supposed to marry found another husband, and the Blackfish is enjoying his life. Best not dwell on matters long since passed," Harry told his cousin and sister.

"I guess," Arya replied, "Anyway, let's look for rubies!"

"Don't wander in to into the waters, Arya," Harry warned, "Your father will have my hide if you ruin your dress."

Arya was about to respond before she was interrupted.

"Tch, I don't know why you bother with these savages, sister," the blond ponce that is Joffrey commented, "It's embarrassing, is it not?"

"Careful there, brother. That's my kin, you're insulting," Harry warned, "Not to mention, myself."

Joffrey sneered, before turning to his companion, who turned out to be Sansa, "I weep for you my lady. Such a beautiful flower as yourself having to bear the harsh wastelands of the North."

"Brother! Stay your cruel words," Myrcella chastised her twin.

"I am a prince, sister, I can do as I please," Joffrey hissed dangerously.

Harry narrowed his eyes. While Tommen was content to follow his mother like an obedient duckling, Joffrey never wasted an opportunity to try and one up either Myrcella or himself. Most of the time it was pathetic attempts, like carving open the pregnant cat, but Harry knew that all it took was one misstep, and a small amount of underestimation with regardsto Joffrey, and Harry would find himself meeting Death far sooner than he would have desired.

"Why don't you shut up?!" Arya yelled.

' _Oh, that won't go well_ ,' Harry thought.

"What did you just say?" Joffrey shouted. When Arya wasn't forthcoming, he drew his sword, "Answer me!"

"Calm yourself, Joffrey," Harry lowly said, "I will not have you insulting my kin any further."

Joffrey turned to his elder brother, and it was then that Harry realised he miscalculated. The elder son of the Queen's eyes were wide and manic. Joffrey then ran at Harry, his sword held high.

However, Joffrey lacked any sort of form and was reduced to flailing his arms like a mad drunk. Easily dancing between the aimless swings, Harry grabbed onto his younger brother's sword-arm and disarmed him. Harry, though, sought a more permanent way to end the confrontation, by expertly breaking Joffrey's forearm. Adding insult to injury, Harry then picked up the sword and inspected it.

"This is live steel," Harry idly commented, "You tried to kill me just now. Not very well, I might add, but actively tried to commit kinslaying. What did you hope to achieve?"

Joffrey, who was wailing on the floor, made no move to answer, but much to Harry's fury, Sansa began tending to the fallen prince.

Rather than chastise his cousin, he decided something else.

Cocking his arm back, "I don't think you deserve this sword."

Harry then threw the sword into the deep part of the Trident, and then walked off to his younger cousin and sister. The direwolves, in the midst of the takedown, had moved to protect the girls.

Spitting to the side, the Crown Prince made one last parting shot, "Give up, little brother. You will never be better than me."

* * *

Unfortunately, Harry found himself waylaid by Lannister guardsmen, who demanded his presence before the Queen.

Harry glared at his younger brother as he stood in front of Arya. Myrcella stood slightly to the side, at the behest of her mother. All around Harry and Arya were Lannister guards blocking their every exit while the Queen looked on with masked delight. King Robert merely stared at him, concerned and confused, as they all awaited for the arrival of Lord Stark. Queen Cersei huffed in annoyance and turned to her husband.

"My love, this is not a difficult matter. Our son was injured due to the Crown Prince's malice. As a father, it is your duty that your blood is protected," Cersei said, "This proves that your eldest isn't fit to be your heir, as I've always told you."

"Ha! That little shit has no Baratheon blood in him," Harry fired back. "If he were any true son of our king, Joffrey wouldn't be snivelling over a small cut behind your dress, _my Queen_."

"Enough, both of you! I will not start this…whatever _this_ is, until Ned arrives. So until then, be silent," Robert commanded.

Soon enough, the doors slammed open and Lord Stark came rushing through, with a couple of his own guard. He shoved his way through the Lannnister men and towards Arya and hugged her in relief before turning to the king.

"What is going on? Why am I hearing that my nephew is being arrested, along with one of my daughters?" Lord Stark demanded, furious, "What is this absurdity?"

"You dare speak to your King in that manner?" Cersei threatened, standing.

"Be silent, woman," Robert shouted at her, forcing Cersei to obey, "Sorry Ned. I don't mean to insult or harm you or your own, but this matter must be dealt with."

"Your nephew and his monster attacked my son," Queen Cersei coldly informed Eddard, "That _wolf_ of his nearly tore Joffrey's arm off."

"That's not true!" Arya yelled, making Harry raised a hand to stop her.

"Easy Arya, let me handle this," he told her, "Fenrir did not attack Joffrey, nor did Nymeria. The little shit was insulting my mother's homeland, and Arya took offense, and told him to stay his insults. When Joffrey threated Arya with his sword, I intervened, to which your son charged me with live steel.

"I easily disarmed him, and decided that if Joffrey is going to be irresponsible with his sword, then he doesn't deserve it," Harry continued, "I then broke his arm, and threw the sword into the Trident."

"That's not what Joffrey told me. He said you attacked him with your sword and then you had that beast attack him and it nearly tore his arm off," Cersei stated, smugly.

"If that were true, his arm would be bleeding a lot more than that, assuming of course that the arm wasn't torn off," Harry said, referring to the bandage with no blood on it, "If Fenrir or Nymeria did attack him, then there would be blood on that bandage."

"I managed to fix it before it got worse." Joffrey said.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "How in the name of the Gods would you have 'fixed' a broken bone, Joffrey? May we see how you 'fixed' it?" he asked, causing Joffrey to become nervous. He started to sweat from the heavy scrutiny he found himself in

"Why should I show you?" Joffrey asked, with false bravado.

"If a direwolf attacked you, then there would be teeth marks and blood. If you show me and there are marks, then I will accept full punishment for my actions," Harry said as Cersei seemed to agree with the idea.

"Go ahead, Joffrey," Cersei told him, but Joffrey was hesitant to show his arm.

"Get on with it, boy," Robert ordered, as Joffrey didn't move. Cersei then took his hand and unwrapped the bandage, only to reveal a hastily made splint and swelling from the broken bone. Robert looked furious as it became apparent that Joffrey had lied.

"So Joffrey exaggerated about the animal, but you did attack him," Cersei said, trying her best not to make her son look weak.

"Be silent, woman! Boy, did you attempt kinslaying?" Robert ordered, his voice deadly.

"My love-"

"I said, be silent! Boy, answer me!"

Joffrey whimpered, but didn't answer. This did naught but increase Robert's anger, which reached a breaking point. He then drew swung at Joffrey, backhanding the boy, who cried out as he was knocked to the ground.

"What is with you, and constantly shaming our house?" Robert rhetorically asked, furious.

Cersei got down to help her son up, before looking to her husband in anger.

"Let them go," Robert ordered the men, "The boy got what he deserved for his trouble, they did no wrong."

Arya dragged Harry into a hug, while Ned smiled at him gratefully.

"What would I do without you?" the man said.

Harry shrugged, but gave a lopsided smirk, "What indeed?"

* * *

The rest of the journey to the capital was uneventful, to which Harry was completely fine with. Most of the time he rode with Myrcella sitting behind him, both chatting about everything and nothing. A few times, he teased his sister over the fact that she would more often than not cast surreptitious glances at Jon, which resulted in a thump on the back.

On the rare occasion, Arya was allowed to ride a horse with Jon, much to the pair's delight. Jon and Harry would then ride close to each other, to allow the girls to have their own small talk, on the condition that the boys not eavesdrop.

Eventually, the Royal Caravan reached the capital. Harry watched in mirth, and Arya's head looked around in awe. Soon enough, the party reach the Red Keep.

Harry told Jon to follow Ser Eyron, to find his quarters, as a servant in formed the Crown Prince that a Small Council meeting was about to take place.

Handling the reins to a stable hand, Harry joined his Uncle as the pair walked to the council chambers.

"Nephew, do you always come to the council meetings?" Eddard asked.

"Unless I'm otherwise unable, I always attend. Usually in the place of Father. He rarely, if ever, attends the meetings, usually relying on me or the Lord Hand to summarise anything of importance," Harry answered.

"That's…I don't know what to make of that," Eddard confessed.

"Father...he tries," Harry sighed, "He doesn't wish to rule, but he makes an effort. For my sake, it would seem."

"For your sake?" Eddard stopped.

"I believe Father does not want me to inherit a realm in ruins," Harry said with a slight smile.

"I see."

The pair continued, but before they entered, Harry held on to his Uncle's arm.

"Once this meeting is over. It would be best if we met in private, preferably in the Tower of the Hand. I will give you as much information as I can, regarding your duties," Harry informed Eddard.

The Hand of the King nodded, and opened the doors to the council chambers.

Entering, the Crown Prince and the Warden of the North found four other men sat around a table.

One of the rose to greet the newcomers.

"Your Highness, welcome back to the capital. Lord Stark welcome to King's Landing," a plump, bald and effeminate man greeted.

"Lord Spider," Harry offered a greeting in return, "Uncle, this is Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers."

"Well met, Lord Varys," Eddard said.

"And that is Grand Maester Pycelle. There is no need to rise, Grand Maester," Harry added, before speaking directly to the elderly man, who was about to rise from his chair.

"Ah, many thanks, Your Highness. These old bones are starting to wear thin," Pycelle wheezed out.

Another man rose to welcome the pair.

"Nephew, Lord Stark, it's been too long," he warmly greeted.

"Renly, good to see you," Eddard commented.

"Uncle Renly serves as the Master of Laws, Uncle Eddard," Harry stated.

"Indeed. I told them this meeting could wait another day," Renly told them.

"However, we have kingdoms to run," an oily voice interjected, "Lord Petyr Baelish, at your service Lord Stark. I am the Master of Coin."

Eddard nodded in greeting, "My wife mentioned you in passing, Lord Baelish."

"As childhood friends are wont to do, I'm sure, my Lord Hand," Baelish replied, "However, shall we start? There is much that needs to be done."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Hand, but this belongs to you," Pycelle spoke up, holding out the pin that marked Eddard as Hand of the King.

"Before we begin, I must ask something," Eddard commanded, as the men sat down in their seats, with Eddard at the head, "Has any word been received from Lord Stannis, regarding his position as Master of Ships?"

"I'm afraid, Lord Stark, that no communication has been received from Storm's End," Varys informed him, "Messengers sent in person have not returned either."

"Then, should another be named as a replacement?" Eddard asked.

"Robert is content to allow Stannis the position, even in the latter's absence," Renly replied.

"Very well, what is the first order of business," Eddard inquired, while being handed a few papers from Pycelle.

"The King wishes to host a joint Tourney for both the Crown Prince's sixteenth nameday and for your appointment as Hand of the King," Baelish replied.

"And how much will this cost us?"

"Forty thousand gold dragons for the winner of the joust, and twenty-five for the runner up. Then another twenty thousand for the winner of the mêlée, and finally fifteen thousand for the winner of the archery contest," Baelish informed the council.

"Can the treasury bare such an expense?" Harry asked.

"I will have to borrow it, likely from the Lannisters," Baelish replied, "We already owe the Iron Bank three million. What's another hundred thousand more?"

"Are you telling me that the Royal Treasure is three million gold dragons in debt?" Eddard asked, aghast.

"Quite so. You see, the treasury wasn't a full as we thought, when the Rebellion was won," Baelish explained in his oily voice, "The Crown was forced to take a loan from the Iron Bank, in order to facilitate repairs, and the relief effort afterwards. Three million is what's left over from that debt, and much of our income goes towards repayment."

"How could Robert have let this happen? How could Jon?" Eddard rubbed his face.

"The Master of Coin finds the money, so that the King can spend it," Baelish replied, with a careless shrug.

"I'll speak to Robert, This tournament is an extravagance, we cannot afford," Eddard informed the council.

"He won't listen," Harry commented, "He rarely does, once Father has set his mind on something."

"Nevertheless, I will speak to him," Eddard sighed, "I'm sorry my Lords, the journey has been hard on me. I will inform you all when the next meeting is to take place."

The others nodded in agreement, and all rose before leaving the council chambers, leaving only the Crown Prince and the Hand.

"Come, Harry. You said you wanted to talk," Eddard said, leading his nephew out of the chambers.

* * *

Elsewhere, in Maegor's Holdfast, Cersei was tending to her son's broken arm.

"How long will it take to heal mother?" Joffrey asked.

"The maester said up to two months," Cersei replied, rubbing her son's unbroken arm gently.

Joffrey grumbled, "Of course the savage would use such an underhand tactic."

"Be careful of your words, my son," the Queen warned, placing a hand on the prince's cheek, "The walls have ears, and until we've dealt with our enemies, the Red Keep isn't safe."

"So, the Starks are our enemies?" Joffrey then asked with a smirk.

"Everyone who is not us, is an enemy, Joffrey," Cersei informed him, returning the smirk, "Soon, you will be King, regardless of that whore's son."

* * *

Soon enough, the Hand of the King reached his quarters. Eddard stopped on his way to see Robert, in an attempt curtail the Tournament that the King wished to host. Unfortunately, Robert was being his usual stubborn self, and insisted upon the specified plans.

Sighing, Eddard entering his quarters in the Tower, awaiting his nephew. As his entered, he came across his daughters arguing over the incident at the Trident.

"Enough, both of you," he ordered, before turning to the septa in the room, "What happened?"

"Arya would rather act like a beast, than a lady," Septa Mordane answered.

In the corner of his eye, Eddard saw that Arya flinched at being called a beast. While he did not care for the Faith of the Seven, he was well aware that the septa favoured Sansa over his younger daughter. With that in mind, Eddard spoke up.

"I care little for the Seven, but I know my wife wishes you to teach my daughters. However, I do not care for insults upon any of my children. Mind your words, woman," he warned.

The septa paled at the rebuke, and hastened to be excused.

"Now, seeing as your septa was of little use, tell me what happened," Eddard said to his daughters.

Arya made to reply, "Sansa was complaining that Harry was too rough on Joffrey. I said that Harry was doing what was right, because Joffrey insulted our home."

"Sansa?" Eddard turned to his second oldest child.

"Prince Haraldr didn't need to be so violent," Sansa mumbled.

"Don't you care that your home was insulted!" Arya yelled, to which Sansa blushed in anger.

"Who cares about the North?" Sansa yelled back, "It's just a barren wasteland!"

Eddard inwardly was hurt that his oldest daughter would consider his home as such, but years of experience allowed him to school his features.

He was about to speak up, when there was a knock at the doors to his quarters.

Striding to the door, Eddard opened them, to see Harry and Jon waiting outside.

"I hope we're not intruding?" Harry asked.

"Not at all, come in," Eddard answered.

Spotting her favourite brother, and her cousin, Arya cried out, "Harry! Jon!"

"Arya," Harry hugged the girl with a smile, "I need to speak to your father in private. Uncle, shall we head to your study."

"Of course, will Jon being joining us?" Eddard asked, puzzled as to why his son would be here.

"Ah, no. I trust him to keep any secrets, but I suspect he and Arya will want to tall," Harry replied, before bidding Jon, Arya and Sansa farewell, though the latter's reply was somewhat clipped.

The trio then entered the Hand's study.

Eddard sat at his deck, while Harry sat opposite.

"Now. What is it that you wished to talk about?" Eddard enquired.

"Well…forgive me for saying this Uncle, but politics doesn't really suit you," Harry said, with a slightly awkward smile.

"No, no. You're right," Eddard waved on, "I'm here, purely because your father trusts me."

Harry nodded, "Right. So, I thought it might be could to tell you what I can, with regards to the Small Council, so that you aren't caught out, or fall in to any traps.

"I see. Go on."

"First and foremost, you can trust me. Without reservation," Harry began, "Unfortunately, there is no one else I would say you could trust to the same degree, except for maybe Lord Commander Barristan Selmy, but he answers only to my father.

"Now, you can trust Renly, in so much that he won't try to play you. He is with a doubt, ambitious, but he is well aware he is fifth in line to inherit, so there is little he can do," the Crown Prince continued, "I would say you could trust Stannis to do his duty, but his sudden absence worries me. There is little that would cause Stannis to abandon his duty, and the fact that he has leads me to think something is up

"Finally, do not, ever, trust Pycelle, Baelish and Varys," Harry then finished.

Eddard frowned, he had thought he could count on Renly's support, but then the mention of the three other council members made him raise his eyebrows.

"Elaborate, nephew."

"Pycelle is a Lannister man, through and through. Father mentioned this, in fact," Eddard did indeed remember the discussion in the crypts of Winterfell, "The thing is, Pycelle's frailty is a trick to deceive others, and to cause them to underestimate him. Everything that he hears eventually reaches Tywin Lannister.

"You may not know, but it was Pycelle who convinced the Mad King to open the gates to the Lannister army, which then led to the Sacking," Harry told his uncle.

Eddard's frown turned to a look of astonishment.

"I…I did not know that," he said, slowly.

"It's not well known," Harry commented, "Anyway, if you don't wish anything to reach the Lannisters, do not tell Pycelle. It is inevitable that it will reach their ears that you're investigating Lord Arryn's death, but try to play it off as showing concern for the death of your old mentor."

"I'll endeavour to follow your advice, nephew," Eddard stated.

"Now, the Spider. Normally, I can read people quite well, but the Spider confuses me. He truly seeks the betterment of the Realm, but at the same time, I can tell he has no love, nor loyalty to my father," Harry explained, "However, while I am telling you to not trust him. If you need information, you can expect it to be true. The Spider has one of the widest spy networks in Westeros, but consider what he tells you with great care."

Eddard nodded in thought.

"And Baelish? He is a friend of Cat's."

Harry sighed, "You aren't going to like this, but Baelish often boasts of taking the maidenhead of both Tully sisters."

"What!?" Eddard stood up, abruptly.

"I have no doubt it is false, and barely anyone takes any heed of this boast," Harry made to calm his uncle down, "Either way, do not, at any point, trust him. He is extremely ambitious, and will not hesitate to use any unscrupulous methods to advance his position.

"There are rumours that he had his predecessor poisoned, so that he could rise to the position of Master of Coin," Harry continued, "Bribery, extortion, blackmail. He uses them all. He has his own network of spies, mostly limited to his whorehouses, so I would be careful if any of your men are likely to frequent such establishments."

Eddard rested his head in the palm of his hands, "It seems everyone has spies here. Next you'll tell me, you have your own."

He meant it as a jest, but when he looked up, Eddard noticed that his nephew was pointedly silent on the matter.

"Nephew?"

"While it isn't as extensive as the Spiders. I do have my own network," Harry told his uncle, "If anyone wants to get anywhere in the capital, they'll have contacts and informants wherever they can. I am fortunate that some of my spies are imbedded in the network of the Spiders, Baelish's and the Queens. It affords me a measure of security."

"Security?" Eddard asked.

"My position as Crown Prince, isn't as secure as you might think, Uncle," Harry stated with a grim smile, "I've managed to avoid no less than nine assassination attempts, ever since my tenth nameday."

"You jest?" Eddard whispered in shock.

"I wish. The Lannisters want Joffrey to be the heir, and I am in the way. And before you ask, no I have not told father, because each and every assassination was done in such a way I could not find the one responsible."

"What do we do?"

"Truthfully? I have no idea."

The pair sat in silence.

"Well, let us leave the conspiracy theories aside, and try to work on the Tournament," Eddard started, "Is there any way to reduce the costs?"

"Well, I have a few, but it would require the support of the Small Council," Harry replied, "Call for a meeting in tomorrow, and we'll tackle the issue then. In the meantime, I have arranged for a Braavosi swords master to teach Arya. With your permission, I can have Jon and one of my Wolfsguard oversee the training."

"Of course," Eddard replied, with a smile, "While Cat won't like it, Arya is far too much like your mother. Arya would never take to the southern ways."

Harry laughed, "Truer words have not been spoken for a long time. I'll take my leave, Uncle."

Harry then got up and left the study, and told Jon he could stay for a while, but needed to be back before nightfall.

Leaving the Tower of the Hand, the Crown Prince then made towards his own quarters. Entering his solar, he poured himself and goblet of Arbor Gold, and sat down.

Barely a second after he touched his chair, Harry found himself in the company of a man in a dusty black cloak, with a scarf covering the lower half of his face. The man knelt before Harry, who half turned to regard him.

"Caius," the Crown Prince softly greeted.

Caius Cosades was Harry's personal spymaster. Originally from Lorath, the spymaster used to be on the payroll of Baelish, before he was considered expendable. Caius was then sent on a suicide mission but Harry foiled the plot. After an interrogation, the Crown Prince arranged for Caius' death to be faked, and had the Lorathi swear an oath loyalty to him. Subsequently, Harry found himself in possession of a spy network, which he was glad for, as he had much than need doing from the shadows.

"A man greets a prince," Caius began in the typical Lorathi speech pattern, "A man has much to share."

"Good. Do you know what is happening in Storm's End?" the Crown Prince asked.

"A man is not certain," Caius started, "A man knows a woman has entered the confidence of Lady Selyse."

"A woman?"

"A girl tells a man, that a woman wears red, and is from Asshai," Caius explained.

"A woman in red? From Asshai? Shit, she must be a priestess of R'hllor," Harry groaned.

"A man agrees. This man also has news from Pentos," Caius continued.

"Go on."

"A man has told this man that the Targaryen boy and girl are still there. This man knows that the Targaryen girl is to wed a Khal."

"A Dothraki? No doubt Viserys seeks to use a Dothraki khalasar to invade Westeros. A folly. The Dothraki are not seafarers," Harry dismissed, "See to it that this information does not reach our enemies. I doubt you'll succeed, but I would rather prolong the inevitable."

"A man understands. This man takes his leave," Caius said.

"Of course, dismissed," Harry stated. He then started to dwell on his plans for the tournament. Sighing slightly. He walked towards his desk, and penned a letter. He let out a small smile as he wrote, before finishing and sealing it, planning on sending it tomorrow.

Knowing that he needed to be up early tomorrow, Harry then decided to head for his bedchambers.

* * *

"And the next order of business is the shipping treaties we have is-"

"Enough! Let's get down to the real issue at hand," Eddard replied. He had called forth another Small Council meeting that predictably Robert did not attend, "The Tournament of the Hand is going to happen, yet if we follow through with these exorbitant prizes, we'll be even more in debt."

"Lord Stark, the King still wishes to go through with the tournament. There is little you can do to sway him otherwise," Varys said.

"The inns are full and whores are all bowlegged from the guests arriving," Baelish commented, "The tournament brings in good money."

"Money that goes into your pockets, Littlefinger," Harry interjected, with a slight scowl, "Which could be perceived as stealing from the Crown as most of these guests are not here for your whorehouses. This little sideshow project benefits no one but yourself.

"However, I would say that if you gave the crown fifty percent percentage, we could look past it," the prince added with a grin, "Just for the duration of the tournament."

Baelish's usual smirk turned forced. He then turned to the other council members in support. However there none were forthcoming.

Varys smirked, knowing that the Crown Prince had managed to outplay the Master of Coin. Renly snorted in amusement, while Pycelle looked as if he was about to fall asleep. Only Eddard seemed to consider the proposal.

"Though seemingly unfair, Prince Haraldr is right," he stated, "Your…establishments are generating a lot of income, but none goes to the Treasury. If you pay the amount my nephew suggests, then the money could be used to pay for extra guards and patrols. It would prevent any needless riots and destruction."

This part was rehearsed between uncle and nephew. Normally, Eddard would scorn on establishments, but he was well aware his views wouldn't necessary fit in with the general opinion of those who lived and worked in King's Landing.

"I suppose so," Baelish relented, "Very well, all my establishments will pay fifty percent of profits for the duration of the tournament. However, let us get back on topic on hand. What were you originally suggesting we do to increase funds?"

"Entrance fees? The Knights entering would have to pay an amount of money, or give something of value in order to compete." Harry suggested, "For the melee and archery competitions, simply have those who enter pay a small entrance fee. Nothing substantial, but enough that we can remove those who will not take either competition seriously. Any cheating would also lead to substantial fines."

"Having an entrance fee is highly irregular, nephew," Renly warned, "Many of these knights have come far for glory."

"Nothing in life comes free, Uncle. The competitors cannot expect to gain a reward without putting forth something first," Harry explained "If each knight and competitor paid a simple fee to enter, the price of this tournament could drop significantly, as the fees could be used to make up the prize money. Knights will fight harder, and give King Robert a good show. I'm sure the Lord Hand will be pleased at the reduction of spending."

"It is unorthodox, but his Highness makes a valid point," Varys added, "The joust is full of knights, already. If they withdraw, then the smallfolk will assume they are cowards. Not to mention they are liable to earn the fury of his Grace."

"Very well then. We will do as Prince Haraldr suggests," Eddard orderd. Grand Maester Pycelle nodded, and made note of the instructions. All the while, Harry smiled at the fact his plan worked smoothly.

"A bold but fair move, I might add," Varys complimented.

"Indeed. Is there any business that we must attend to?" Eddard asked, "Grand Maester?"

"Ah yes. Let me consult my list," the maester said, "The dungeons in the Red Keep are almost full, particularly in the black cells. The warden wishes to know what to do."

"Send those in the black cells and any with major and moderate crimes in the regular cells to the Night's Watch. Also, invite any prisoners in the upper levels to do the same," Eddard instructed, "Any problems and the Night's Watch will either beat it out of them or the Lords of the North will execute deserters. Those with lighter punishments are to do manual labour. Cleaning the streets. Repairing sections of the walls. That sort of work."

"Why?" Renly asked.

"The Night's Watch need men on the Wall. They're barely keeping a standing force as it is. They would welcome more recruits," Eddard explained, "Either way, they're out of the capital, and not our problem anymore.

"Have a few of my personal guardsmen and some of the City Watch escort them as far as Riverrun, and I'll have a raven sent to Castle Black so that someone is sent to meet the prisoners there," Eddard finished.

The Small Council looked to each other and murmured their agreements. Free labour while ridding the most dangerous criminals from the city, was almost a godsend.

"If that is all, then you are dismissed," Eddard told them.

The council members all left, leaving the Hand and the Crown Prince to remain.

"That went well," Harry commented.

"If only all meetings went that smoothly," Eddard sighed.

Harry snorted, "As if."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Right. I'm thinking that updates will be moved to Saturdays. On to the good news! I made 100+ reviews, which is amazing. I hope I can break the 200 barrier in a shorter space of time, so please keep reviewing, but no flames.

Now for the question answering:

 **Robin42069** : Harry's magic won't be an issue for a while yet, but I can tell you that it won't be like in the Wizarding World

 **Bountyx** : I think you have Ros mixed up with Melisandre.

 **Neroj** : Well, Robert is somewhat better, but still takes part in debauchery. As for the magic. It won't surface for a while yet. As for the near-perfectness; watch this space.

 **Laxard** : Good spot, but Harry is still a Prince so he needs a squire anyway. Plus he's about to be knighted soon, so it hardly matters.. Right now, he can't knight Edric himself.

 **Harrie** : I'll PM you with my reply.


	6. Tourneys and Knighthoods

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Tourneys and Knighthoods ~**

* * *

King's Landing was a city full of hustle and bustle as men and women of all walks in life rushed to attend the most widely anticipated tournament of the year. Of course, when one considers that Robert I was oft known for hosting tournaments whenever he felt like, the Tournament of the Hand would be hardly be different. However, this tournament had the privilege of serving as the celebrations for the Crown Prince's six-and-tenth nameday. Yet the aforementioned prince stifled a yawn as he watched the archery competition in boredom.

"Theon would beat all these would-be marksmen," Harry commented idly.

Beside him was the King. Robert was cheering the competitors on, his right hand hold a goblet full of wine. Having heard Harry's passing comment, Robert turned to face his son.

"What's that boy?" he asked.

"The competitors," Harry gestured towards the archer's line, "They don't have a hope of a chance of equalling Theon."

"Theon? As in the Greyjoy boy that's Ned's ward?" the King frowned.

"Yes, father. He is in Winterfell still," Harry explained, "By all rights, he should be returning to the Iron Islands, but for some reason he keeps putting it off. I don't know why."

"Huh," Robert grunted, "Is he any good?"

"Is he any good?" Harry repeated, "Father, he's the best marksman in the North. If he wasn't due to return to Pyke, I would have him in my service in a heartbeat."

Robert chuckled, "High praising, coming from you."

The father-son duo shared a laugh, as the horn sounded.

"Ah, finally! A winner! Robert loudly cheered, "On to the mêlée!"

"Hm…pity. Ser Balon came second," Harry mildly stated.

"One of your Wolfsguard?" Robert asked.

"Aye. A talented knight. I was lucky to take him into my service, I reckon. He is a second son, so he doesn't really stand to inherit anything," Harry told his father.

Robert laughed, "Ha, you really do have an eye for talent, don't you?"

"Quite. Speaking of talent, Jon's fighting now, so the mêlée will be a good show, I reckon," Harry grinned, "Ah, father, about what we spoke of."

"Yes, yes. I'll see it done. Though, you are rather confident that he will win," Robert replied, with a challenging smirk.

Harry returned the smirk, "Jon is the only one who matches me with the sword. Robb is the better rider and jouster, and Theon is the best with the bow, but Jon and I are peerless when it comes to swordsmanship."

"Hmph, I saw one spar between you and Ned's bastard. If he wants to impress me, your cousin will have to show it," Robert snorted.

"He will, father, he'll definitely surprise you," Harry said.

"I wouldn't be so sure, boy. Thoros of Myr, with his flaming sword, is the regular winner. Your cousin, will be hard pressed to win a fight with that crazy priest taking part," Robert warned.

"I'm sure Jon will relish the challenge," Harry said with a wide grin.

"Bah," Robert waved off his son before yelling at the judges, "Get on with it!"

* * *

Jon stood nervously in the waiting area for the mêlée competition. All in all, there were about forty other men in the competition. Knights, men-at-arms, even a few squires were taking part, though the one who stuck out the most was the priest of R'hllor; one Thoros of Myr. Jon wasn't the youngest of those in the mêlée, but he was near enough to the bottom that most others sent a single glance and snorted in derision, quickly discounting him as a challenge.

For Jon, this wasn't about the twenty thousand dragons, should he win. It wasn't about the prestige that would come from winning the competition. It wasn't about catching the eye of the ladies in the stands either, though if Jon was truly honest with himself, then wouldn't say no to earning the attention of Princess Myrcella. Not that anything would come of it, but Jon digressed.

For Jon, this was about proving to himself, more than anyone else, that he was worthy being raised at Winterfell. Worthy of being Eddard Stark's son. That more than anything was Jon's justification for entering in a competition where he could very easily lose his life. He vividly remembered the small excursion, the previous week, with Harry.

* * *

 ** _Last week_**

* * *

"Why are we here, my Prince?" Jon asked, as he, Harry, and Sers Eyron and Lucian walked along the Street of Steel.

"We are visiting the best blacksmith in the entirety of King's Landing," Harry announced, "The master armourer, is from Qohor, and has some rather boastful claims."

When Jon had revealed his intent to join in the mêlée competition, much to the excitement of Arya, Harry had insisted that Jon was properly outfitted with armour, and lamented the fact that there wasn't enough time for Jon to receive a custom order.

Jon had balked at the thought, and told Harry that he, himself, would get a custom order commissioned when he had stopped growing. Have realised the stupidity of his statement, Harry sheepishly chuckled, and apologised for letting his excitement get the better of him. Nevertheless, Harry insisted that Jon would get the best armour available, as he was in the service of the Crown Prince, and his appearance would reflect back to Harry.

Jon reluctantly agreed, and as such, here they were, walking down the streets of the capital.

"Also, when did you start calling me 'my Prince'?" Harry asked.

Jon blinked, "I thought it appropriate, considering the vast gap in our respective stations?"

Harry laughed, "Jon, I am your cousin first, and your prince second. Only when in a public setting, such as in court, or during a formal dinner, do you call me 'my Prince'. Otherwise, you're a free to call me by name."

"But-"

"You're fighting a losing battle, lad," Ser Eyron interrupted, "He did it with us, until we reminded him that it's inappropriate for knights to call the sworn lords by their given names."

Harry grumbled, "It is bad enough I get bootlickers from people I dislike, but I still don't get what's wrong with having friends and allies call me by my given name."

It was Ser Lucian's turn to look exasperated, "My Prince, if you insist on people referring to you by name, it shows that people do not respect your station, and as such, they lose respect for you. As a king, this is disastrous. Consider how the last time the peasantry lacked respect for the king, the Faith Militant rose."

"I know, I know. I get it. It just gets irritating rather quickly," Harry groused. His view on sycophants was a leftover from his past life with regards to the whole Boy-Who-Lived hysteria, "Anyway, here we are. Tobho Mott's the armourer I told you about."

They entered the shop, to see the Qohorik man taking an inventory.

"Master Tobho," the Prince greeted.

The elderly man span on his heel in surprise. He relaxed once he recognised who called out to him.

"Ah, Prince Haraldr. Welcome back to my shop," Mott replied, "I trust the armour I forged for you is to your liking?"

"Indeed, it is. Though, I am still struggling to figure out how you managed to make the silver trim without paint," Harry replied.

"Ah, I would say, but I must keep some secrets," Mott stated with an enigmatic smile.

"Of course. Now. My cousin here is taking part in the mêlée tournament in a week's time," Harry explained, "I need you to fit him with a suitable set of armour. Spare no expense."

"Of course. Unfortunately, I cannot do a custom piece, given the short space of time, but I do have a variety of sets that you can choose from," Mott replied, his expression slightly apologetic.

"I am aware you do not rush art, Master Tobho," Harry said, "And I am also sure that your considerable skills will be put to use in choosing the best set for my cousin."

"You flatter me, my prince, but I thank you for your words," Mott smiled, "Now, what kind of armour do you prefer, young man?"

"Ah. Full plate, Master Tobho," Jon said, "I prefer thicker armour, rather than speed. Though, I would like to have a full range of movement, rather than have my joints heavily protected.

"Of course, continue," Mott encouraged, rubbing his chin.

"I have no preference to the style of the helmet, but a wolf motif wouldn't be discouraged. Though I would like visibility, yet a covered face, so a holed face would be preferable," Jon listed of, "If it's not too much trouble, I would like a snarling wolf's head on the chest piece, but that's not really important."

"I see," Mott considered the stated requirements, before snapping his fingers, "I might have just what you are looking for. I had made it some years ago, back before the Rebellion. The one who commissioned it never came for it, so I assume he died in the Rebellion.

"Now that I think about it, he looked strikingly similar to your cousin, my Prince," Mott's eyes narrowed, "Bah, at my age, the many faces I see eventually meld to make new faces that belong to no one."

Harry blinked, before considering what the armourer was saying, white Mott went into his backroom.

' _Strikingly similar to Jon_?' he thought, ' _It couldn't be, could it_? _Pfft, what are the chances_?'

Chancing a glance towards Jon, Harry noted that his cousin seemed to have glossed over the passing comment made by the Qohorik, but rather was more excited at the prospect of new armour.

Mott re-entered the storefront with an assistant. Both were carrying a box each. Taking in the appearance of the assistant, Harry had a puzzled look.

"Master Tobho, I could have sworn you have a different apprentice last time I was here?" he asked the armourer.

Mott glanced at his assistant, a non-descript boy, before turning to the prince, "Ah, yes. Gendry was his name. I arranged for him to be sent to the Wall. I taught him all I could, but he wouldn't have been able to set up his own shop, given his age."

"Huh, well, the Night's Watch is in need of builders, I suppose," Harry commented.

Mott hummed in acknowledgement, "Perhaps. I simply wished for him to be of use somewhere," Mott then made to open the boxes, "Now, young man…I am sorry, I forgot to ask your name," he apologised to Jon.

"It's fine. My name is Jon Snow, Master Tobho," Jon replied.

The Master armourer blinked at the bastard surname, but made no comment. Instead he gestured to the young man to stand at a particular spot.

"My assistant and I will fit this armour on to you Master Snow," Mott explained, "It will be a little loose at first, as the man I originally created this for was somewhat broader at the shoulder than yourself."

A short while later, and Jon was soon outfitted. The armour he wore was silver in colour, with violet highlights, that clashed well with Jon's eyes. The hauberk was a dull grey colour, as were the parts of the armour that wasn't coloured silver. It didn't however, have the snarling wolf image that Jon would have liked on the chest piece.

The helmet however, was more than sufficient to show Jon's ties to House Stark. It was shaped like a snarling wolf, with its jaws wide open, in a similar fashion to the Hound's helmet. However, the difference here was that the mouth was open permanently, and the space was filled with a closed sheet of metal with enough holes to allow for a near unrestricted view, and freedom to breath properly. The helmet was also coloured in a similar scheme to the suit of armour.

From Harry's perspective, it was a masterpiece. The colour scheme didn't suit him, as he preferred a black colour, but when he looked to Jon, Harry could tell that his cousin was more than pleased.

"It's perfect," Harry stated, "And how much will this cost us, Master Tobho?"

"Oh, it won't cost anything. The armour was already paid for when the order was made," Mott explained, "I couldn't possibly ask to be paid twice for the same work."

Harry owlishly blinked. That was distinctly honest from the elderly man.

"Well, at least let me pay for you time," Harry insisted, pulling out his money pouch. He then paid the appropriate amount, as well as including a small payment for the assistant. He then turned to thank the armour, "As always, thank you for your work."

"And thank you for your patronage, my Prince," Mott smiled.

Harry, Jon and the two knights then left the store and made their way back towards the Red Keep.

"I will have Edric assist you in putting on the armour," Harry told his cousin, "The joust takes place the day after the mêlée and archery competitions, so Edric won't have anything to do otherwise."

Jon blinked at his cousin and liege lord, before nodding in acquiescence. Sometimes it was best to not argue with Harry.

* * *

 ** _Present Day_**

* * *

Jon was brought out of his thoughts by a call from his left.

"What's a whelp like you doing with armour like that?" a man's voice asked.

Turning to the voice, Jon found himself in the company of a sellsword with a lean and wolfish appearance. The man had dark hair and eyes and his face was covered with a stubble of a beard.

"My liege lord insisted a wear a decent set of armour, else I get myself killed," Jon replied.

"Liege lord? What's a knight doing in a competition like this, when you can enter the joust?" the sellsword asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jon blinked, "I'm not a knight, Ser. I'm a squire to Ser Eyron of the Wolfsguard. The liege lord I mentioned is Prince Haraldr."

The sellsword snorted, "I'm no knight neither. Name's Bronn."

"A pleasure, I'm Jon Snow of Winterfell," Jon introduced himself.

"I'm sure it is. Well Jon Snow of Winterfell. I wish ya the best o' luck, but those dragons are mine," Bronn said, before walking off, "Fancy armour ain't gonna help ya win, whelp."

Jon shook his head, smiling slightly. At the sound of the judges calling the competitors to the ring, Jon took a deep breath to steady himself. Putting on his wolf-head helmet, Jon then joined the rest, and waiting for the starting signal.

As he stood waiting, the judges went over the rules. Striking to kill was forbidden, so elimination was by surrender or submission. As such all weapons would be blunted. The last man standing would be the outright winner.

The forty competitors were then split into four groups of ten and led to gates from where they would be let into the circle.

Standing at his designated gate, Jon began rotating his arms, and swinging at his waist to loosen up his body.

"Look alive, whelp," came the voice of Bronn from his side.

"Bronn," Jon nodded back.

"What say you an' I team up for the first bit?"

Jon was taken slightly aback at the rather blunt request.

"Why would you want to team up with someone as young as me?" Jon asked.

"Maybe I wan' an easy opponent in the singles," the sellsword smirked.

Jon snorted, "If you want, old man. Just try to keep up."

Bronn barked a laugh, as the warning call came. The gates shuddered, and slowly started to rise. This prompted Jon to draw his sword.

Within a few moments of the gates opening, the four separate groups immediately clashed at the centre of the ring. Thoros of Myr had already managed to down several others with his flaming sword, whilst a giant of a man, not unlike Gregor Clegane had managed to take out a couple of his own opponents. Jon, without even meaning to, had managed to find himself back-to-back with the wolfish sellsword, who laughed in joy, thriving in the fight.

Jon took out his fair share, mainly focusing on those of his age. Surprisingly enough, Bronn was willing to cover Jon's blind spots, which led to Jon subconsciously returning the favour. Ducking under a wild swing from a squire, Jon returned the attack by knocking his opponent's aside, and moving behind to drive the pommel of his sword into the base of the squire's neck. Unfortunately, this manoeuvre led to Jon being separated from Bronn, though the latter seemed to be having the time of his life, holding off two grizzled sellswords by himself.

An inarticulate roar caught Jon's attention, as he deftly parried a blow from the side. Turning to meet his aggressor, Jon was subjected to the attention of four other squires, who were clearly allied together.

The squires exchanged quick glances before charging at Jon, all yelling out war cries. Victory was not theirs, as Jon ducked and weaved in and out of each swing and attack, utilising hours and hours of practice to non-lethally take down each squire.

"I thought we were stickin' together, whelp?" Bronn called out, as he took down another opponent before coming to Jon's side.

Jon let out a snort, "Sorry old man, I was waylaid."

"I bet you did," Bronn grinned.

Smashing the flat side of his sword into a sellsword abdomen, Jon spoke up, "How long have we been at this?"

"Hell if I know," Bronn replied, with a bloodthirsty smirk, "Time loses meaning when in a fight."

Eventually, Bronn and Jon managed to defeat all the competitors closest to them, leaving just the pair. At the other ends of the ring, the giant stood alone, surrounded by the down forms of his opponents, whilst Thoros managed to come out victorious in his own battles.

"Guess our partnership's at an end, whelp," Bronn remarked.

"Guess, so," Jon absently replied, his eyes never leaving the remaining two competitors, "May the best man win."

"Oh, I intend to," Bronn grinned.

The four men stood equally apart, silently gauging each other for weaknesses and the like. A moment passed by, and then the four simultaneously moved to attack one another.

Jon found himself in a duel with the Red Priest, who had his flaming sword grinding against Jon's own. The heat from the green flame was causing Jon to start sweating profusely, which prompted him to take a step back. This turned out to be a clever move, as Myrman wasn't expecting it and stumbled. The brief respite gave Jon the time to regain his footing, and made attack the priest. The onslaught of swings and slashes proved too much for Thoros, who overcommitted on a parry, given Jon the opening he needed to smash his sword into Thoros' knee. The Myrman fell to the blow, which then gave Jon the opportunity to land a kick to the side of Thoros' head, knocking the priest unconscious.

All the while, Bronn had managed to defeat his opponent, using his superior manoeuvrability against much larger man. The sellsword then turned to face his erstwhile ally, sword held aloft. Jon mirrored Bronn's stance, as the crowd was silent with bated breath.

Bronn was the first to move, and move he did, dealing a heavy blow that Jon only just managed to parry. However, Jon was forced to the ground, and had to role, to get some distance between him and the sellsword. Yet as soon as Jon stood back up, Bronn was upon him with a flurry of strikes that Jon barely managed to defend against. A second wind from Jon allowed him to bring about his own attack, leading to a blade lock between the two swordsmen.

"Give up whelp. There's no shame in concedin' at this point," Bronn taunted.

"Would you?" Jon challenged.

Bronn snorted, "Fair point."

The crowd were roaring in encouragement, with all parties enjoying the bout. The King was yelling, Harry was on the edge of his seat, while Arya was struggling to remain seated in hers. The Lord Hand wasn't outwardly showing anything, but when one looked closely at his facial expression, it was clear that he was proud of Jon.

Soon enough, the blade lock broke, as Jon took a step back. Unfortunately, Bronn was far too wily to lose his footing, and managed to stay balanced. A flash of light caught Jon's eye, causing a momentary lapse in judgement. This allowed Bronn get past Jon, and smash his sword into the back of Jon's knee, which buckled.

"Never take your eye off the fight, whelp," Bronn chastised, "Get up. I want to win the properly."

Jon struggled to get up, and gingerly placed some weight on the leg that was hit. Seeing that he could stand properly, Jon took guard once more. The crowd continued to shout in excitement, as the combatants circled each other. Bronn then struck out at Jon, trying to press his advantage. Jon, however, narrowed his eyes, and prepared to use a disarming manoeuvre Ser Rodrick taught him. The flat side of Jon's blade hit the base of Bronn's own sword, and promptly Jon twisted. He then put all his weight into a downward thrust, which forced Bronn to drop his sword lest the sellsword find himself with a broken wrist. Almost immediately, Jon raised his sword to Bronn's unprotected neck.

The crowd was silent. Seconds turned to minutes as everyone waited for the end result, until:

"I surrender," Bronn drawled, putting his hands up.

The crowded exploded in applause, as people were jumping up and down in excitement and awe. Arya was out of her seat, yelling her voice raw, as Eddard stood up, clapping his hands. Jon also saw that Harry had a proud smirk on his face, while the King was boisterously laughing.

The cheering and applause continued until the crowd was silenced by the King standing up. Gesturing for one of his squires to get his sword, Robert motioned for Jon to stand before him in the pavilion. Jon did so, and knelt before the king.

"Hm, you're actually as good as my son tells me," Robert commented, "And here I thought he was exaggerating."

Jon did not look up, but pride swelled at the offhanded compliment.

"Now, I had a deal with my son," Robert continued, "A deal that was dependent on you winning the mêlée."

Robert then drew his sword, causing Jon to softly hold in his breath.

"Jon Snow," Robert began and tapped Jon's right shoulder with his sword, "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," a tap on the left shoulder, "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just," a tap again on the right, "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent," and finally on the left again, "In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. Rise, Ser Jon Whitehart!"

The crowd once again erupted into rapturous applause, as cheers went out for the new knight. While this was going on, however, a single thought ran through Jon's mind.

' _I have a name…_ '

* * *

"So, have you chosen a coat of arms, yet?" Harry asked, the following morning.

Jon, who was elated that he had finally earned a name of his own, had been frustrated at his inability to decide what his heraldry would be. He had considered the use of a white wolf on a black field, but the parallels of that design to the heraldry to House Blackfyre's caused Jon to worry.

"No such luck," Jon grumbled.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "What happened to the white wolf on black field?"

"I didn't want Lady Stark to think I had any ideas of taking Robb's birth right," Jon explained.

"What? You wouldn't do that," Harry frowned.

"House Blackfyre," Jon merely stated.

Harry opened his mouth, but paused when he ran through his mind what Jon was trying to get across. The founding of House Blackfyre hadn't caused any problems, initially. It wasn't until Daeron II was crowned that things started to deteriorate. During the rule of Aegon the Unworthy, Daeron's parentage was under doubt, with accusations of the then Queen Naerys committing adultery. Trumours were quelled after Aemon the Dragonknight defended his sister's honour and slew the accuser, one Ser Morgil Hastwyck, in a trial by combat. However, the rumours resurfaced following the death of the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys.

Historians could never quite agree why Daemon revolted, some saying it was because he was denied the right to marry his cousin Daenerys, others said it was because Daemon resented his status as a bastard. Whatever the reason was, the First Blackfyre Rebellion occurred, and Daemon lost. Yet, for decades later, House Blackfyre continued to harass Westeros, until the War of the Ninepenny Kings, where Ser Barristan the Bold slew Maelys Blackfyre. Maelys was, at that point, the last male to bear the name Blackfyre, and subsequently, the House was declared extinct.

"You aren't Daemon I Blackfyre, Jon," Harry argued, "Besides, there is already a cadet branch of Starks. House Karstark."

"And what about House Greystark?" Jon returned back.

"House Greystark was extinct well before the Conquest. Their history has no bearing on your future!" Harry said in earnest.

Jon sighed, "It doesn't matter what I think. If Lady Stark sets her mind to something, where it concerns me, she won't change her mind."

Harry's shoulder slumped, before another idea struck him.

"Why not speak with Lord Edric Dayne? Your cousin on your mother's side?" Harry asked.

"What? What purpose would that serve?" Jon gawked.

"Well, why not ask permission to add a falling star to your heraldry? It would show that you're trying to make a name for yourself, by honouring both your parents, yet wanting to be independent."

Jon looked unsure, "I don't know Harry."

Harry raised his arms up in frustration, "Look Jon. Who cares what Aunt Catelyn, thinks? As far as I'm concerned, you have no plans to usurp Winterfell from Robb. And I'm quite sure you'll do right by any children you may have, so what is there to worry?"

Jon fell silent at that. Eventually he looked up, and half-smiled at his cousin.

"Fine. You win," Jon sighed, "I'll ask Lord Dayne for his permission. If not, then I'll go for the white wolf on a black field."

"Finally! He decides!" Harry groaned, "Now why couldn't you have done that earlier. Whatever, come on. I need to get ready for the joust."

Jon blinked, "Right, of course."

The pair then headed towards Harry's quarters. Outside the doors stood the four Wolfsguard. As per usual, one of the four would stay close by to guard the Crown Prince, whilst the remaining three were free to take part in the joust. Normally, the knights would come to an agreement, so Harry decided to ask which of them would stay with him.

"So, who's staying with me, and who's competing?" Harry asked.

Ser Eyron spoke for the four of them, "I will guard you, my Prince. I have little interest in competing, so I am fine with the others competing instead."

"Very well. Is Edric waiting for me?" Harry asked the knights. Seeing them nod in affirmation he turned to the first of his Wolfsguard, "Ser Eyron, stand guard of the door with Jon. The rest of you are free to ready yourselves for the joust."

Harry then entered his quarters to find that Edric was waiting for him, standing next to a mannequin which held Harry's armour.

The armour consisted of a silver coloured hauberk that required a black leather belt to hold in place. The cuirass was layered in triangular segments, while the pauldrons were layered similarly to the cuirass. Across the cuirass was a green cloth tied to where the cuirass and pauldrons met. The arms were covered by gauntlets and elbow guards. The legs were protected with a combination of leather greaves, diamond shaped knee guards, and metal plates over the greaves. The armour was coloured black, as was his preference.

The helmet was a simple design that had chainmail at the back for protection, while the sides were long sheets that met the centre of the face, leaving a T-shape opening.

With deft hands, and much practice, Edric managed to assist Harry is putting on the armour within an hour. Tightening a few straps, Harry looked to his younger brother.

"Well, how do I look?" he asked.

Edric started slightly at being addressed, but hastened to answer, "I think you look magnificent, my Prince."

Harry laughed, "And the honest answer?"

"Ah, you look intimidation," Edric stuttered out.

"Well, I best get going. Come. You'll be win Ser Eyron, and I don't think Jon will ride in the lists," Harry said.

With that said, Harry strode out of his quarters, Edric hurrying after.

* * *

Riding atop his destrier, Harry cast his eyes across the other knights and men-at-arms taking part in the joust. As per usual, the Kingslayer was there. As was Ser Barristan Selmy, and the rest of the Kingsguard. Both the Hound and the Mountain were competing. All three of the Wolfsguard were there as well. Idly, Harry noticed that heated words were exchanged between Ser Jaime and Ser Lucian, before the latter rode off, with a furious look on his face.

' _Hm, I wonder what that was about_ ,' Harry wondered.

Ser Robar's elder brother and father were both here. Lord Yohn's bronze armour was certainly eye-catching. Supposedly thousands of years old, and engraved with ancient runes. Harry vaguely remembered a third son, Ser Wyman or something or another, had joined the Night's Watch some years previously.

Thoros of Myr was also riding, even after his loss the previous day. Lord Beric Dondarrion was also there. As was Lord Jason Mallister, with his silver-chased violet armour and eagle-winged helmet. Several men from the North were also taking part, including Jory Cassel. The Tourney even had an exiled prince from the Summer Isles, one Jalabhar Xho of the Red Flower Vale, as one of the riders.

Many knights were riding, and soon enough Harry found himself facing against one of the multitude of Frey's, Harry forgot which. The Frey knight was barely a challenge, as Harry managed to unhorse his opponent in a single tilt. The next to fall was one of the Northern cavalrymen, though this took to the second tilt, before the man was unhorsed. The joust with Yohn Royce was close, and required the adjudication of Harry's father who, surprisingly, judged fairly and awarded the win to Harry. Harry then faced his uncle, crowd favourite Renly Baratheon. It was a pity, though, that he didn't inherit any of his brothers' martial skill, and so he was rather violently unhorsed to the point he flew backwards off his charger. He landed with such force, that one of the stylised antlers on his helmet snapped off clean. When Renly got up, he earned a loud cheer from the crowd. Waving to them then, he graciously accepted his defeat and handed the golden antler to Harry, who rolled his eyes. The Crown Prince scanned the crowd briefly, before handing the token to an elderly woman, who accepted it with a teary smile.

Harry's next opponent was the Lord of Seagard. This, too, was a closely fought contest, as Harry was very nearly unhorsed on the first tilt. In spite of that, Harry managed to rally and unhorse Lord Mallister on the third tilt.

Harry final joust of the day was against the Hound, where a victory would see him through to the semi-final the following day. As he prepared for the first tilt, he heard the distinct whiny voice of his younger brother calling for the Hound to 'crush him'.

' _Because that doesn't show family unity_ ,' Harry observed.

Regardless, Harry charged down at Sandor Clegane, and raised his lance. He struck the Hound cleanly on the chest, but Clegane managed to stay atop his horse. Harry, in turn, was hit where his arm met his chest.

The blow unfortunately deformed the armour slightly, making it difficult access the full range of motion in Harry's left arm. This made it difficult for him to properly hold up his shield. Deciding to discard it, Harry held his lance aloft, and prepared for the second tilt. This time, Harry had the advantage, as he managed to land a hard knock to the Hound's stomach, winding the man. This made Clegane land a mere glancing blow to the side of Harry's armour. This resulted in the scores being tied into the final tilt.

As the trumpet sounded to signal the final tilt, Harry whipped the reins of his horse and kicked his spurs, willing his horse to go as fast as it could. At the opposite end, Harry saw that Clegane had also discarded his shield. Closer and closer the opponents thundered towards each other. The contact cam fast, and it came hard. The Hound lost his balance at the last moment, and only managed to graze Harry on the right shoulder. The Crown Prince, however, managed to compensate for Clegane's last-minute movement, and jerked his lance forward in a spear-like fashion, straight into the face of the Hound's helmet. This resulted in Clegane falling of his horse in a similar manner to Renly Baratheon before him.

As such, Harry was the first to secure his position in the semi-finals. He then rode off to his private tent, where Edric was waiting, to assist in removing the armour. As he got off from his horse, Ser Eyron fell in step with the Crown Prince.

"Well fought, my Prince," he said.

"Thank you Ser Eyron," Harry replied, "The Hound was a worthy opponent."

"Aye, he was. But you were better," the knight stated with a smile.

"I suppose I was, wasn't I?" Harry grinned.

After Edric assist Harry in removing the latter's armour, the Crown Prince headed to the pavilion to watch the remaining jousts, alongside his father. He passed by his maternal family who all offered him congratulations, Arya being to most vocal while Sansa was somewhat more subdued. Harry's uncle simply offered a proud smile, and a pat on the shoulder.

Harry then moved to sit at his father's right side, as was his right at the heir to the Iron Throne. The King had a goblet in hand, and was cheering on the competitors. Glancing towards his son, Robert thumped Harry on the back.

"Haha! Well fought, boy!"

Harry nodded with a smile, "Thank you father."

"Heh, make sure you win tomorrow, boy," Robert warned, "You'll shame our house if you don't otherwise."

"I know father, don't worry," Harry rolled his eyes, "It'd be a pity to lose a tourney dedicated to me."

By this point, the second semi-finalist, Ser Loras Tyrell, had managed to unhorse several knights, including Ser Robar.

"Ah. That was unfortunate for Ser Robar," Harry commented, "He was hoping to impress his father today."

"That Tyrell looks more like a girl than a boy," Robert grunted. He gestured for his squire to pour another cup of wine.

"Speaking of Tyrells," Harry began, as the crowed groaned when Ser Barristan Selmy was unhorsed by Ser Jaime, "What's this about my betrothal being broken in favour of Margaery Tyrell."

Robert snorted, "Renly had it in his mind that the girl looks like your mother. Poetic symmetry he said…or something like that, anyway."

Harry stared at his father.

"Margaery Tyrell looks like…my mother?" he slowly asked.

"Aye, according to Renly, anyway. Brought a fancy portrait of the girl. Thing is though, he brought it for me, not you," Robert explained, "Said I ought to remove the Lannister influence in court, by divorcing Cersei."

Harry burst out laughing, "And do what? Replace it with Tyrell influence?"

Robert joined in the laughter, "Bah, the girl is your age. I know Jon married a girl when he was old enough to be her father, but that's not something I would do."

Harry wisely didn't point out that Robert had slept with whores the same age, as he watched the Kingslayer defeat Ser Lucian.

"How is it that you earned the loyalty of a Lannister?" the King asked his son.

"Most of the cadet branches of House Lannister have no love for Tywin and his ilk," Harry explained, "Not all of them are bad, father."

Robert nodded, then cheered as two knights clashed. Eventually, the Kingslayer, joined both the Crown Prince and the Knight of Flowers in the semi-finals.

It was time for the final bracket, which included the dreaded Gregor Clegane. The Mountain That Rides was a juggernaut in that no one could even land so much as a glancing blow before being unhorsed, sometimes violently so. Such was the case when he face one Ser Hugh of the Vale.

"That's a green boy as ever," Harry commented, "Who is he?"

"Hm? Oh, that was Jon's old squire," Robert answered, "He was recently knighted."

Harry frowned, "Knighted for what? And when?"

Robert's brow furrowed in thought, "Do you know what? I can't remember why exactly. I just did it in Jon's memory"

Harry sighed, "Perhaps he might know something of Lord Arryn's movements before he died?"

"Probably," Robert grunted, "Ned's on it, so don't worry lad."

' _The fact that it's Uncle Eddard who is investigating, and not your Master of Whispers, is why I'm worried_ ,' Harry thought.

Staring at the knighted 'boy', Harry noticed something.

"That is a rather expensive armour for a newly anointed knight," Harry stated.

"He was probably left something by Jon, boy," Robert answered, waving away the statement from his son.

"Perha-" Harry was interrupted by the violent manner in which Ser Hugh was unhorsed.

Ser Gregor lance had rode up in such a manner that drove through the Valeman's gorget and pierced his throat, leaving a splinter from the broken lance lodged in his neck. The crowd watched in eerily silence, as no one moved to assist the boy who was desperately clinging to life. However, Ser Hugh was effectively drowning in his own blood, leaving little possibility of surviving.

Coming to a decision, Harry rose from his seat, and drew his dagger. The crowd watched in bated breath, their eyes following the Crown Prince, as he approached the fallen knight. In the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a flash of auburn hair, and grimaced.

' _This isn't something Sansa ought to have seen_ ,' he thought.

Kneeling down, Harry placed a palm on the boy's chest. Once he did so, Ser Hugh grasped at Harry's wrist, weakly as it was. The knight looked at the Crown Prince, his eyes pleading. Catching on to Ser Hugh's request, Harry nodded, and bowed his head.

"May the Stranger guide you on your path," he murmured. In the back of his mind, he heard Death voicing her approval at what he just did.

Harry then drove the dagger straight into Ser Hugh's chest. Not even a second later, the latter's arm fell uselessly to the side, as a small smile graced his lips in contentment. Harry gently closed the sightless eyes, and then stood up. He then gestured to several nearby servants to clean up the blood, and followed as two other servants carried the body away on a litter to be attended to by the Silent Sisters.

A brief enquiry told him that Ser Hugh had no friends nor family in the capital, so Harry took it upon himself to stand vigil for the deceased knight. As he watched the Silent Sisters attend to the body, Harry idly heard footsteps approach.

"Your Highness," an aging voice called out.

"Ser Barristan," Harry returned.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood next to the Prince.

"You will be needed at the feast, your Highness," Ser Barristan said.

"I am standing vigil for Ser Hugh, Lord Commander," Harry returned.

"As you say, your Highness, but you will be missed. I will stand in your stead," the elderly knight said.

"Forgive me Ser Barristan, but I would rather not sit at a feast dedicated to me, when blood has been spilt in a _tourney_ dedicated to me."

Ser Barristan blinked, "I did not take you for a superstitious person, your Highness."

"Not so much as superstition as a healthy respect for the gods," Harry corrected.

"I see. I will inform his Grace, your Highness. Though I doubt he will be please."

Harry waved Ser Barristan off, "My father can be as displeased as he wishes. He is fully aware that once I set my mind to something, I am hard pressed to change my mind."

The knight smiled, "Of course, your Highness."

* * *

The following morning saw Harry preparing for his semi-final round against the Kingslayer, the lots having been drawn the previous evening. As he did so, Jon walked in while munching on a sweetroll, Ghost following him. Upon seeing the fellow wolf, Fenrir made to lunge at Ghost, if not for the warning glance sent by Harry.

"You were missed at the feast last night," Jon said.

Harry turned to face his cousin, "I know. I was standing vigil."

"Ser Barristan told me," Jon said, "Also asked if I would consider joining the Kingsguard."

"Would you?" Harry asked, as he tightened the straps.

"I don't know. I quite fancy getting married and having children, now that I have a name," Jon answered, as he finished his roll, "Why were you standing vigil, anyway?"

"It gave me time to think," Harry replied, "I don't think Ser Hugh's death was an accident."

"Oh?"

"Aye, he squired for Jon Arryn. He might have known something, and someone else wanted him silenced."

Jon watched his cousin in silence, as Harry fully donned his armour, and left for the stables. Falling in step with the Crown Prince, Jon spoke up once more.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked.

"Once the tourney is over, the pair of us, and all of my usual retinue will leave for Dragonstone. I plan to meet with the Lords sworn to me, among other things," Harry informed Jon, "After that, it's off to White Harbour, and then to Castle Black."

Jon blinked, "Why?"

"The Free Folk are rallying behind a King-Beyond-The-Wall. Should they attack, the Night's Watch are woefully outnumbered," Harry explained, "I want to take stock of the situation in person."

The pair soon reached the stables. Mounting his horse, Harry turned to Jon.

"Head to Ser Balon. He should know your duties for today," Harry told him. He then rode off, Fenrir beside him.

Soon enough, Harry reached the pavilion and dismounted to greet his father, who thumped Harry on the back.

"Win glory for our house, Harry," Robert boomed, "You'll knock the Kingslayer clean on his arse."

"Of course, father," Harry smiled.

As he and Ser Jaime were first, Harry remounted his horse, and headed towards his end, in preparation for the first tilt. Waiting at the other side, was the Kingslayer himself, wearing his white cloak, golden armour and lion's-head helmet.

At the sound of the trumpet, both competitors charged towards each other. The crowd cheered, while Robert roared encouragement from his seat. When the opponents collided, Harry was unfortunate to land a mere glancing blow while taking a hard strike to the abdomen, knocking the air out of Harry's lungs. Harry could literally see the smugness oozing from the Kingslayer as he rode to opposing end of the list. Harry, too, rode to his end, and readied his joust. Chancing a look at the pavilion, Harry saw that Joffrey was calling for Ser Jaime to crush his opponent. Next to the blond prince was Sansa, who looked somewhat uncomfortable, but had a distinct look of adoration towards Joffrey.

Rolling his eyes, Harry whipped the reins, and began charging towards the Kingslayer once more. Drawing his lance back, Harry then drove it into Ser Jaime's chest, knocking the knight backwards. This resulted in the member of the Kingsguard losing his balance, and was only able to weakly thrust his own lance, which Harry caught on his shield.

The third tilt was a little more evenly matched, as Harry manage to score a hit to the Lannister knight's abdomen. However, he also took a blow to the right side of his chest. This left the result needed to be adjudicated by the King. Robert had narrowed his eyes in thought, while casting a slight glance to his second wife. Grinning, he called out for Harry to be the winner.

' _Figures that I'd be used for Father to insult Cersei_ ,' Harry thought with an internal eye role.

Riding back to his designated area, Harry dismounted his horse, and handed the reins to Edric. The squire had a grin reminiscent of the King's as he face liege lord.

"That was well fought, my Prince," Edric congratulated.

"Thank you Edric," Harry replied. He turned to Jon who was standing close by, "Jon, take the reins. Edric fetch me a drink."

The squire passed of the reins to Jon, before rushing off to fulfil the command. The pair stood in companionable silence, as they watched the second semi-final. As the two horses stood close by which the knights paid homage to the King, Harry noticed how Ser Gregor's destrier was unsettled. The horse was pawing the ground, screaming and shaking its head, and it took a swift and hard kick from the Mountain to regain any semblance of control.

"Well, now. That's rather underhand," Harry offhandedly commented.

"What is?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Tyrell's mare is in heat. It's attracting the attention of Clegane's stallion," Harry explained.

"That's…not honourable," Jon said with a troubled expression.

Harry snorted, "Honour? Honour gets you killed in the South, Jon. No one in the southern kingdom adheres to it."

Jon's brow furrowed, "That seems…I don't know the word for it."

"Depressing?" Harry offered.

"Maybe, I don't know…SEVEN HELLS!"

Jon was interrupted by the sight of the Mountain killing his horse with a single ferocious blow that half severed the beast's neck. By the time the horse fell silent, Ser Gregor was striding down towards Ser Loras.

Over the cacophony of shrieks and cries, Harry idly heard his uncle shout out for someone to stop the Mountain, but none dared make the attempt.

Harry tutted before turning to Jon, "Fetch Ser Eyron!"

Not waiting for an answer, Harry grabbed his live steel swords, and made to intercept the Mountain. It wasn't a moment too soon, as Harry managed to block the heavy blow from Ser Gregor, by crossing his own swords above his head.

' _Bad idea! Bad idea! Bad idea!_ ' was what was going through Harry's mind, as he was forced down to a knee from the weight of the strike.

"Get out of here!" he gritted out, to stunned Knight of Flowers. The Tyrell obliged as he scrambled away. Harry then released the blade-lock, and rolled away. Harry used the brief moment Ser Gregor stumbled to strike out at the Mountain, but the thick armour managed to absorb the blows. This left Harry wide open for a strike, had it not been for Ser Eyron barrelling in from the side to parry away the strike from the Mountain.

The two continued to attack each other, Ser Eyron trying to disarm the giant of a man, who was lost into the Warrior's Madness.

" _STOP THIS MADNESS!_ " Robert boomed, " _IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"_

Ser Eyron instantly went to one knee, neatly avoiding a decapitating strike. This in turn caused the Mountain to regain his senses. He dropped his sword, and balefully glared at the King. Wordlessly, Clegane strode off, shoving past Sers Balon and Lucian. The latter two turned to apprehend the man, but an order from Harry saw them standing down.

A moment later, Ser Loras had returned to the field wearing a simple linen doublet.

"I owe you my life, your Highness. The day is yours," he conceded to the Crown Prince, who gracefully accepted.

This earned cheers from the crowd, as applause rang through the commons. They quietened as Robert stood up to appraise his son.

"Ha! Now that's how a son of mine should act!" he declared, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my son, Prince Haraldr."

He ambled from the pavilion, and then stood before Harry.

"Kneel," Robert commanded and Harry did so. Robert then gestured for a squire to bring his sword, and just like with Jon, the King began to knight his son. He tapped the sword on Harry's right shoulder, "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," a tap on the left shoulder, "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just," a tap again on the right, "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent," and finally on the left again, "In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. Rise, Ser Haraldr Baratheon!"

' _I don't even follow the Faith of the Seven_ ,' Harry groused.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I can only sincerely apologise that I did not update sooner. I had an exam on the previous Monday which required my attention, and I was free until today to proofread this chapter. However, I made this one extra-long as a peace offering, so I hope you enjoy it!

Now to answer some reviews:

 **Joffrey getting off lightly** : Try to remember that Robert backhanded Joffrey. Also, Robert considered the broken arm punishment enough. Or at least...That's what I'm going for.

 **Crown debt** : I did try to explain that the Rebellion left the coffers empty, and money was needed for the repairs and the like. Robert is marginally better, but the 3 million debt is the remaining amount from the initial loan. Also, the Crown is not in debt to the Faith, or other Westerosi Houses.

 **Magic** : Okay, a lot of people are wanting magic. First of all, it won't come for a while yet, but I do promise that it will. Harry just requires a catalyst. The magic that appears will be a mix of ASOIAF magic (warging, etc) and HP magic.

 **Betrothed/pairing** : It will come to play in the next chapter

 **Neroj** \- The way Caius speaks is typical for all Lorathi people. Jaqen H'gar only speaks like that because he is impersonating a Lorathi when Arya first meets him.

* * *

 **Next update** : I cannot promise that I will be able to update next week, but I will tell you that this story will not be abandoned like my older stories. It may take up to two to three weeks for the next chapter. If otherwise, I will let you all know.


	7. Surprises of all kinds

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Surprises of all kinds ~**

* * *

"Do you have to go so soon?" Arya asked, as she stood by while Harry checked his saddle.

Deciding that he had stayed too long in the capital, Harry had chartered a ship to take him, Jon, and the rest of usual guard to Dragonstone. Since his tenth nameday, Harry would spend at least one month of the year at the island fortress, entertaining the Lords of Houses Velaryon, House Bar Emmon, House Celtigar and House Sunglass. On the occasion, Harry also entertained the folk from the Houses at Crackclaw Point. All in all, it totalled at around five thousand men loyal to Dragonstone, and to Harry.

"I'm afraid so, Arya. I've tarried too long," Harry gently replied.

The young girl pouted at looked away, causing Harry to smile. Turning to his Uncle, who had just finished his farewells with Jon, Harry gestured Eddard to following him to the side.

"Uncle, as I've said before, be wary of who you trust," Harry began, "I have several men loyal to me in key positions keeping an eye out. They will make themselves known to you, by a specific token that all men loyal to me carry. You know what it looks like."

Eddard frowned in confusion, before the answer dawned upon him. The token that Harry was referring to was a ring that belonged to his father that he gave to Harry on his five-and-tenth nameday. A ring that Harry must have duplicated.

"Of course, nephew. It is much appreciated," Eddard replied.

Harry nodded, and then looked around. He noted that Sansa was nowhere to be seen. When he vocalised his thoughts, Eddard grimaced.

"She's with Prince Joffrey," he explained, "They are having a stroll in the gardens."

Harry blinked, "I thought you didn't agree to the match?"

"At your suggestion, yes," Eddard confirmed, "However, Prince Joffrey is still courting her, and Sansa seems to be receptive of his advances."

"Typical," Harry mumbled under his breath, "Keep a close eye on her, Uncle. I wouldn't put it past my step-mother to use her to spy on you."

Eddard frowned, "Surely she wouldn't stoop so low?"

"You underestimate the levels of deplorability Cersei Lannister is capable of," Harry replied darkly.

Eddard's frowned deepened, but made no comment as the ship was finished in its preparations. Harry then bade both his cousin and uncle farewell, and boarded the ship. It was ship that Harry regularly used whenever he travelled by sea, and was named the Winter Rose in remembrance of his mother. It was crewed solely by men loyal to Harry, hence why he had no reservations of using the ship.

As the ship pulled out of the docks, Harry walked towards the bow of the ship. By his left leg, Fenrir sat on his haunches. At his right side, stood Jon who had a frown on his face.

"What's on your mind?" Harry asked.

"Hm?" Jon snapped of his thoughts.

"I asked what was on your mind. You seemed deep in thought," Harry repeated.

Jon seemed hesitant to answer, but did so anyway, "I've been having…dreams? I don't know, they feel real."

Harry's concerned look turned curious, "Are you having visions?"

"I…I am not sure. They might be, but it's strange."

"Strange? Strange how?"

"It's like I'm watching the events through Ghost's eyes," Jon answered, the disbelief clearly on his face.

"What sort of things are you seen?" Harry asked.

"Just normal things. A few guardsmen patrolling the hallways. Servants going about their jobs. That sort of thing," Jon explained.

Harry looked pensive. From what Jon had said, it sounded an awful lot like Jon was skinchanging. If he were anyone else, Harry would consider the notion ludicrous. However, given the circumstances of his birth, Harry was willing to consider the idea.

"Harry?"

Harry was brought out of his musings, "Sorry, what was that?"

"Do you have an idea of what it is?"

"Well…You need to keep an open mind about this," Harry began, to which Jon nodded, "How much do you remember of Old Nan's stories?"

"What?"

"Answer the question, please," Harry patiently insisted.

"Erm…most of them, why?"

"As absurd as might sound, you might be a skinchanger," Harry explained.

"A what? A skin…A skinchanger?" Jon looked perplexed, "As in…when one enters the mind of an animal? Those are just stories!"

"Not so much," Harry disagreed, "I believe the skill is common amongst the Free Folk."

"Huh," Jon fell silent at that, as the pair stared out into the waters ahead.

Though common was how Harry ought to have put it. Yes, there were skinchangers amongst the Free Folk. However, it wasn't that it was common to be skinchangers, but more than it was common for people to have the _potential_ to be skinchangers. Some just never noticed they had the skills. On his occasional sojourns beyond the Wall, he had come across some of the friendlier Free Folk who had the talent. One such was a female Free Folk named Briar, who had a shadowcat partner. She had explained that it took a great deal of mental fortitude to develop the skill, and it was the easiest with canine partners. As for whether one had the ability, one man in a thousand is born with the potential to be a skinchanger. The meeting had left Harry curious as to whether or not he should try, but the opportunity never rose, nor did any apparent magic from his last life.

Speaking of magic, that was a source of frustration for Harry. He had often bemoaned his lack of any magical skill, as legilimency would have made those pesky Small Council meetings so much easier. Harry had many discussions with Maester Luwin, one of the few maester's to even have a Valyrian steel link on his chain to signify his studies in the arcane. The maester had explained that magic was most prevalent during the heights of the Valyrian Freehold, but most records of the time were lost to the Doom. What little was left was considered heresy by the Faith of the Seven, and as such the topic was left alone. Modern magic was mostly limited to the blood sorcery of the priests of R'hllor.

Not willing to even consider the idea of converting to the red god, Harry was left to ponder on how to possibly regain his magic. Though on the occasion Death communed with him, Harry was assured that his powers would return in time.

"How long till we reach Dragonstone?" Jon asked, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

"Assuming the weather holds, before nightfall. The island is located at the entrance to Blackwater Bay, so it's not too long a journey," Harry replied.

"Huh, must be convenient?"

"Hm, I suppose so. Though, considering up until now, I've predominantly lived in Winterfell. It's hardly that convenient."

Jon laughed, "And now?"

"Now? I suppose I will have to stay more often at Dragonstone…though I suspect Father will have me in the capital, so that we can both suffer," Harry wryly stated.

The pair shared another laugh. Eventually, the ship reached Dragonstone, and Harry disembarked, with Jon following behind, and the Wolfsguard a little way behind them. Edric had left to handle his duties. Greeting them at the footsteps to the fortress was the castellan, Ser Nathaniel Howe. Nathaniel Howe was the son of Ser Rendon Howe, who was initially a supporter of Robert's Rebellion, but turned out to be a traitor. He had almost successfully arranged the assassination of both Robert and Jon Arryn, if not for the timely intervention of Ser Nathaniel. The elder Howe was promptly executed, while Nathaniel was knighted and granted the position of castellan of Dragonstone; a position he held to the present day.

"My Prince, welcome back to Dragonstone," the castellan greeted.

"Ser Nathaniel, good to see you again," Harry nodded back, "This is Ser Jon Whitehart. He hasn't properly joined the Wolfsguard, but he is kin."

"Of course, well met Ser Whitehart," Ser Nathaniel smiled, "It is a pleasure to meet another in the service of Prince Haraldr."

Jon nodded in greeting, "Aye, well met Ser Howe."

"Have a servant take you to your permanent quarters for whenever you stay here," Harry told Jon, "I'll send for you if I need you before dinner."

Jon nodded and followed a servant down a hallway. Harry then turned to the castellan.

"How are things, Ser Nathaniel? Did you send the ravens, as I asked?" Harry enquired.

"Yes, my Prince. The Lords shall arrive tomorrow at midday, or perhaps the early evening, depending on the weather," Ser Nathaniel replied.

"And the family? Are they well?"

"They are all fine. Deliah married and had a son, and Thomas is taking to his training well. I daresay he could be my successor at some point in the future."

"We need to find you a wife, Ser Nathaniel," Harry said with a teasing grin.

"Not any time soon, I think, my Prince," Ser Nathaniel chuckled good-naturedly.

"Of course. Tell Maester Esbern that I wish to speak with him at his earliest convenience. I will be in my quarters," Harry said, before walking away towards his own quarters.

"Ah, my Prince, before you go-"

"It can wait until I've changed my clothes, Ser Nathaniel," Harry interrupted.

"But my Prince-"

"Later!"

If Harry had bothered to wait and hear out his castellan, he would have seen the knight let loose a deep sigh before mumbling about how 'she' would prefer it to be a surprise. However, Harry was far too into his thoughts regarding how to handle the Wall. Though he was brought out of his musings when he was granted the sight, in Harry's own humble opinion, of the most glorious view in his short life.

Upon his bed lay two beautiful young women. Each naked at the day they were born. Both were of Dornish descent, but each had their own unique look. The one on the right was buxom, with olive skin, dark eyes and long, thick black hair that fell to the middle of her back in ringlets. A sultry smirk was upon her full lips and a lust-filled look in her eyes. The girl on the left was a more slender build however, had rich blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and fair, almost pale, complexion. A casual observer would only see a sweet and pious persona, yet underneath the veneer was a cunning mind inherited from the Red Viper. In spite of that, at the current moment a small grin adorned her face, with thinly veiled lust.

Harry's mouth went dry as he took in the sight, committing it to memory.

"Well…This is a surprise…Arianne."

The Princess of Dorne's smirk widened, "Hello Beloved. Do forgive me for this…rather inappropriate welcome, but it has been quite some time since we saw each other last."

Harry swallowed, "Yes…I suppose so. I see you brought a…guest."

"Indeed I have. I thought we might…share in the talents my cousin has," Arianne smiled coyly.

"And does your father…or your uncle know you're here?" Harry asked.

"My father cares little for what I do. He spends more time educating my older brother. Uncle Oberyn, however, is fully aware. He was the one who suggested I bring Tyene," Arianne replied airily, "Now, are you going to just stand there, or will you join us?"

"I could always use the assistance in removing my clothes?" Harry suggested with a raised eyebrow.

The girls wore matching grins as they rose from the bed. Both wore an expression of a predator stalking its prey. Reaching the Crown Prince, the pair soon liberated Harry from his clothes, and then Tyene pushed Harry onto the bed.

* * *

After resting from the rather strenuous activity, the trio shared a bath together. Despite the temptation, there was no second round. Subsequently, they dressed appropriately for dinner, and made their way to the dining hall.

"Aside from the obvious, why did you come?" Harry asked.

"No real reason," Arianne smiled enigmatically.

"Oh?"

The Princess sighed, "Truthfully, father is becoming impossible to be around. As I am betrothed to you, he cares little else beyond educating Quentyn on ruling. Even Trystane garners more attention from my father, than I do."

"Huh. That must be somewhat depressing? What of your mother?"

Arianne grimaced, "I have neither seen nor heard from her, since she and father had a falling out over Quentyn's fostering."

"I'm sorry," Harry gently apologised.

"Don't be," Arianne smiled, "Ellaria is more of a mother to me."

"Ellaria?"

"Father's current paramour," Tyene supplied, "Also, the mother of my four youngest sisters."

"Ah."

"By the by, Beloved, I have a request."

Harry paused in his walking, "Oh?"

"Uncle Oberyn's squire, Damon Sand…or rather, Ser Damon Sand. He is one of Dorne's finest swordsmen, but he is lacking a purpose," Arianne explained, "I was wondering whether you would take him into your service?"

"As a member of the Wolfsguard?" Harry asked in clarification, as he continued walking to the dining hall.

"In whatever capacity you wish," Arianne airily replied.

"Huh. Fair enough. Is he with you?"

"He is, Beloved," Arianne confirmed, "I chose him as my guard for the journey here."

"Convenient."

"Isn't it just," Arianne smiled beatifically.

Harry rolled his eyes, as they entered the dining hall. Inside, Jon stood by, waiting. Catching sight of the Princess of Dorne, Jon raised an eyebrow in question.

"Ah, Jon, this is my betrothed, Princess Arianne of the House Martell. Arianne, this is my cousin, Ser Jon Whitehart," Harry introduced.

"A pleasure, your Highness," Jon bowed.

"Of course," Arianne smirked, "I'm not familiar with the name?"

"Jon's the natural son of Uncle Eddard," Harry explained, "He's a sworn sword, but once he's old enough, I'll be making him a landed knight."

"Interesting," Arianne purred.

Seeing the glint in his intended's eye, Harry hastened to intervene, "No, Arianne, you will not take him to bed."

Jon spluttered, as Arianne pouted. Tyene giggled at her cousin's expression, while Harry rolled his eyes.

"I…What?" Jon struggled to find the words, "Aren't you betrothed to each other?"

"We are. She's teasing you," Harry deadpanned, and the continued in a lowered tone, "At least, I hope she is."

Arianne smirked, "What was that, Beloved?"

"Nothing, dearest!"

The Princess' smirk widened.

"Speaking of marriage, when are we getting married?" Harry asked.

Arianne raised an eyebrow, "I thought you knew. It's at the beginning of the new year."

"Huh, that only a couple of months away," Harry mused, before shrugging, "Fair enough. Anyway, let's eat. I'm starving."

With that said, the four of them settled down to eat. Simple conversation occurred amongst the group, and soon enough, night came. While Tyene graciously accepted a set of guest quarters, Arianne was stubborn in that she would share a bed with Harry. Not willing to make a fuss of it, Harry easily acquiesced to the demand.

* * *

 _Deep into his sleep, Harry found himself in a vast white space that seemed to go on forever. Harry idily noted that the area gave of the same feel as King's Cross Station did when he met Death. Realising that Death wanted to speak with him, Harry called out;_

 _"_ I thought you weren't going to contact me like this while I was still alive _?"_

 _Death appeared in a flash of coalescent shadow, in stark contrast to the surround area._

 _"_ **I was content to merely offer a whisper or two, like when you attended to that fallen knight, yes** ** _,_** _" Death replied, "_ **However, the situation has changed** _."_

 _Harry frowned, "_ Changed how? _"_

 _"_ **I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air** , _" Death began, "_ **What once was is lost. For none now live, who remember it.** "

 _"_ You aren't making any sense, Death _," Harry pressed._

 _"_ **You already know** _," Death revealed, "_ **A great stirring occurs in the North** _."_

 _Harry's eyes widened. It was one thing to suspect something. It was another thing entirely to receive confirmation. Even the idea of the White Walkers was terrifying._

 _"_ What can we do? I have no magic. And no records remain of how the Long Night was stopped, _" Harry started to pace, as his mind raced to find a solution._

 _"_ **You will regain your magic before long, Master. Do not worry,** _" Death stated._

 _Harry frowned. It did answer the question regarding his magic, but he still needed answers regarding the impending threat._

 _"_ Death, I need to know how to stop them _."_

 _"_ **You will know, when the time is right** _," Death answered, "_ **I cannot reveal such information prematurely. To do so would risk too much.** "

 _Harry yelled in rage, "_ Enough of the cryptic bullshit! _"_

 _"_ **Master, I am not withholding the information to spite you** _" Death explained, "_ **I physically cannot tell you, lest the consequences turn the situation worse**."

 _Harry deflated almost immediately, "_ That…sucks. _"_

 _"_ **I am sorry, Master** _," Death appeared to be genuinely regretful, hence why Harry let it go._

 _"_ So, what should I do _?" Harry asked, lost._

 _"_ **You must go to the Wall. That which you seek, will be there to find** _," Death enigmatically stated._

 _Harry frowned. That sounded almost like a warning. Harry wasn't entirely sure what it was that he was seeking, but now that Death mentioned it, some days it felt like Harry was almost…incomplete. As if something instrumental to his very being was missing. Most days, Harry attributed this to the lack of his magic, but with Death's statement, Harry's gut instinct was telling him that this was something more._

 _"_ Is there anything else I should know? _" Harry asked._

 _"_ **Yes. Beware the Red God. Its powers a comparable to mine, but limited in scope** _," Death warned, "_ **Soon its powers will be brought to the mortal plane, and you will need to prepare yourself, my Master.** _"_

 _"_ That's worrying, _" Harry commented, "_ Anything else? _"_

 _"_ **The other Gods of this realm are stirring too, it would seem,** _" Death added, "_ **Your arrival into this world has shaken things, somewhat.** "

 _"_ The other Gods? What? Like the Many-Faced God, or the Seven? _" Harry asked._

 _Death let out a rather uncharacteristic snort, "_ **The Many-Faced God is merely an avatar of mine, as is the Stranger of the Seven. The other six are nothing more than words on paper written by mortals.**

 _"_ **I speak of the Old Gods of the North. The true Gods of Westeros,** _" Death revealed, "_ **They have been silent for an age, but your arrival to this world has sparked an awakening. An awakening that has been long in the coming.** _"_

 _"_ No pressure then, _" Harry deadpanned, slightly pale._

 _"_ **Do not worry yourself, Master. The Old Gods know not to put too much expectation upon your shoulders** _," Death soothed, "_ **They simply ask you do your utmost best to stop the coming Darkness.** _"_

 _"_ Right. I should, ah, probably wake up now? _"_

 _"_ **That would be prudent, my Master** _."_

 _Shaking his head, Harry closed his eyes, and darkness enveloped him._

* * *

Harry's eyes then snapped open. It was still somewhat dark, but the light from the break of dawn shining through gave the room a slight orange glow to it. Turning his head slightly, Harry caught sight of a man in a hooded cloak, sitting in a chair and sipping from a goblet.

Groaning slightly, Harry deftly extracted himself from Arianne's embrace. She mumbled in discomfort, but remained asleep. Harry then put on a tunic, and made his way to the figure.

"You know how much I dislike you appearing like this, Khalen," Harry groused.

"Apologies, my Prince, but I needed to enter unseen," the newly named Khalen replied, "The less people know of my movements, the easier my work is."

"Of course," Harry waved away the explanaition, "Report."

Khalen was of Tyroshi descent, and one of Caius' lieutenants in Harry's spy network. Khalen was based in the Seven Kingdoms, specifically the Vale. As such, he was in charge of the spies in that Kingdom.

"As you wish, my Prince," the spy began, "I have uncovered some information regarding the murder of Jon Arryn."

"So he was murdered," Harry murmured, "Continue."

"It would appear that the Lannister's are not responsible for the murder. However, the late Hand did find something incriminating about the Queen."

"So whoever killed Lord Arryn had the same information, and tried to frame the Lannisters," Harry deduced.

"Just so, my Prince," Khalen agreed, "However, your Uncle is still of the opinion the Lannister's did it, as suggested by the Lady Arynn."

"What? I know Father had vague suspicions of Lannister involvement, but this. How did we miss this?" Harry asked.

"I could not say, my Prince. Lysa Arryn is become exceedingly erratic, as of late. I have Mya looking into it, but I have no further information," Khalen admitted, "I do, however, have some news from Essos."

"Oh? Do share," Harry said.

"It would appear that the wedding of Daenerys Targaryen went smooth enough. She was gifted a pair of dragon eggs, if Master Caius heard correctly," Khalen began, "However, it would appear that the eggs have long since been petrified."

"I see, anything else?"

"Ser Jorah Mormont has managed to swear himself into Viserys Targaryen's service, but from what I understand, he is in actual fact an agent of the Spider," Khalen continued, "We were unfortunately unable to intercept missives to and from Mormont. I believe it is only a moment of time before the King is made aware."

"A pity," Harry quietly stated, "Have an agent permanently posted. Doreah perhaps?"

"I believe Master Caius already took the liberty of doing so, my Prince," Khalen said.

"Excellent. If there is nothing else, you are to immediately return to the Vale," Harry ordered, "I want you to particularly focus on Lysa Arryn. Something isn't right there."

"As you command, my Prince," Khalen bowed, before departing.

For the next few minutes, Harry sat in silence, contemplating the new information. The update on Daenerys Targaryen was useful. Since the siblings had reappeared at Illyrio Mopatis' manse, Harry had kept as close an eye as possible on them, ostensibly on Viserys, but in truth on Danerys. The last son of the Mad King didn't really concern Harry, not since Viserys started showing signs of the Madness. However, Harry was more concerned with ensuring the survival of House Targaryen, if only through the only daughter of Aerys II. Harry wasn't sure why, but his instincts were telling him to keep the girl safe, and if there was one thing Harry trusted it was his instincts.

"Do you normally have such heavy thoughts upon this early, Beloved?" the sultry voice of Arianne asked from behind him, as Harry was wrapped in the arms of his betrothed.

"Not normally, no. Just some new information," Harry said, smiling slightly. He leaned back and gazed into the eyes of his future queen. Arianne, in turn, leaned down, her hair flowing downwards. Harry then reached up and, with the back of his hand, stroked Arianne's cheek. The Princess smiled and leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and sighing in content.

"Some new information, you say?" she asked, reopening her eyes.

"Aye," Harry replied, "I've been keeping tabs on the last of the Targaryens. Not to mention, the death of Jon Arryn appears to be more complex that I originally thought."

If Harry had paid more attention, he would have noticed an odd gleam in Arianne's eyes at the mention of the last of the Targaryens. As he was rubbing his eyes, he failed to see as such, and continued talking.

"Daenerys Targaryen has married Khal Drogo," he continued, "And it would seem that Lysa Arryn is somehow involved with the death of her husband."

Arianne raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "I see. Nevertheless, Beloved, it is early morning and you must get ready to entertain the Lords. I also request that you swear Ser Damon into your service before long."

"Of course," Harry said, "Come. I'm sure you would want to bathe together?"

"You know me well, Beloved," Arianne giggled.

Several hours, and a swearing of a knight later, and the Lords sworn to Dragonstone had arrived. Unfortunately, the bad weather meant that the Lords didn't arrive until the late evening, which meant that Harry would have to entertain the lords at dinner. He stood in a balcony overlooking the port, as ships bearing the Lords sailed in. What surprised him though was the presence of ships Harry knew belonged to the Royal Navy, and therefore technically owing their loyalty to Stannis Baratheon. The most significant of the ships were three War Galleys that made their berth in the main docks; the _Prince Aemon_ , the _Princess Rhaenys_ , and the _Queen Alysanne_. The three ships were what few remained of the Targaryen Naval Fleet, which Stannis took when he was ordered to rebuild the Royal Navy. Alongside the three were the ships, _Pride of Driftmark_ , _Red Claw_ , and _Swordfish_. These belonged to Houses Velaryon, Celtigar and Bar Emmon respectively. Further down the port, Harry saw a wide array of War Galley's, fishing boats, and cogs.

' _If my eyes don't deceive me, I'm looking at the better part of the Royal fleet,'_ Harry mused, ' _But what are they doing here, and not in the Stormlands?_ '

Harry was then brought out of his thoughts when Jon arrived.

"Harry, the Lords have disembarked and are waiting in the dining hall. They await your presence," he stated.

Harry nodded, "I will make my way there now. Please have Arianne come, so that we enter together."

Soon enough, Arianne met with Harry wearing a gown of rich emerald silk. Harry wore a finer version of his usual black outfit, with green trimmings. As the pair approached the doors to the dining hall, a servant caught sight of them, and made to inform the announcer.

"Presenting, His Royal Highness, Prince Haraldr of the House Baratheon and his betrothed Princess Arianne of the House Martell," the man announced, silencing any small talk in the hall.

The Lords present stood in respect as the Crown Prince and his intended, moved to the head of the table.

"My Lords, welcome. Please be seated," Harry greeted, as he took his own seat, with Arianne sitting to his left.

The Lords then sat down, while Harry gestured for the servants to bring the food. It was of moderate quality, but had enough lavishness that the Lords would not be offended. Eventually the feasts was done, and the entertainment over.

"My Lords, I thank you for coming," Harry began, "However, there is much to be done, and I would have your full attention."

The Lords present, along with a few knights and heirs, sat up straight in their seats. Harry smiled slightly.

"First of all, I have some questions that I hope you can answer," he started, "I noticed that a good part of the Royal Navy is present. Could someone explain why?"

It was Lord Monford Velaryon who answered, "Your Highness, we, the Lords sworn to Dragonstone, were made aware of a priestess of a foreign god entering the confidence of Lady Selyse. It soon became apparent that this 'red woman' started whispering honeyed words in the ear of Lord Stannis."

"We began suspecting that Stannis had plans for seizing the Iron Throne from you, Your Highness," Lord Ardrian Celtigar took over, "In light of that information, plans were made to place men loyal to you to on war galleys."

"And where did these men come from?" Harry asked.

"The men presented themselves to us, with documents bearing your seal," Velaryon explained.

' _Hm, this sounds Caius is involved,_ ' Harry thought to himself, ' _I will have to confirm with him later._ '

"I see," Harry said out loud, "Then you have my gratitude for your loyalty, my Lords. What of the remaining ships?"

"They left for the Stormlands, Your Highness," Lord Duram Bar Emmon answered, "The _Fury_ , _Lord Steffon_ , and _Stag of the Sea_ included."

"Those are the newer ships, correct?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Velaryon replied.

"Hm. This brings me to my next topic," Harry continued, "I believe that the Lannisters might be planning to place my half-brother on the throne."

"But you are the heir?" Lord Guncer Sunglass yelled out, aghast.

"Well done for pointing out the obvious, Lord Sunglass," Harry dryly stated, "But the court is filled with Lannisters, thanks to the manipulations of my dear step-mother.

"Father, hardly notices, and without Jon Arryn at court to assist him, I fear that War might come soon," Harry finished.

"But surely your Lord Uncle would be able to help your Lord Father?" Velaryon asked.

"Uncle Eddard has no patience of the Game, nor for politics in general," Harry replied, "We need to make preparations, and discreetly."

"Of course, Your Highness. We are yours to command," Celtigar declared.

Harry smiled, "Good. Between you, how many men can you field?"

The Lords of the Narrow Sea exchanged looks before Lord Velaryon spoke for them, "Near enough five thousand, your Highness."

"I see. Not enough for an assault on King's Landing," Harry mused, stroking his chin, "However, with the number of ships we have, we could effectively blockade Blackwater Bay."

"If Stannis does end up planning to usurp the throne from you, You Highness, he could employ sellsails to bolster his own fleet," Bar Emmon pointed out.

"I am aware," Harry calmly stated, "I have spies keeping an ear to the ground."

Seeing no one else was forthcoming, Harry brought the meeting to a close, "If nothing more is to be said, then I once again thank you for coming, and offer you rooms for the night."

Murmurs of gratitude swept through the Lords, as they got up from their seats, and made for the offered rooms. Only Harry, Arianne and Jon remained.

"You two were oddly quiet," Harry commented, offhandedly.

Arianne stretched, "You seemed to have everything well in hand, Beloved. I had nothing to add. I could not promise Dornish support without speaking to my father. If anything, Uncle Oberyn would join, just so he would gain vengeance for Aunt Elia."

"Hm. Fair enough. And you Jon, nothing to say?"

Jon frowned slightly, "I am still not fully aware of southern politics, my Prince. I couldn't offer you anything of note, without proper knowledge of the situation."

"An honest answer, if any," Harry sighed. He then turned to face his cousin, "Prepare for our depature to White Harbour."

"Business in the North, Beloved?" Arianne asked, as Jon got up to follow the order.

"Aye. I need to speak to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Harry informed her, "Do you wish to come?"

Arianne frowned it thought before answering, "It's not like I'll be missed at Sunspear. Can Tyene come?"

"Of course."

"Then indeed I will. I've always wanted to see the North," Arianne revealed.

Harry half-smiled, "You probably change your mind, when we reach the Wall."

* * *

Arianne, as predicted, did change her mind. Two weeks later, and the Dornish princess did nothing but complain about the weather.

"It's too damn cold!" she groaned, shivering as she pulled her furs closer around her.

Harry laughed, "This is mild, Arianne. Wait until winter comes. Then you'll feel the cold."

"You Starks would know all about winter coming, wouldn't you," Arianne sniped, "It's in your words and all."

Reaching Castle Black, the party were met by Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, and First Ranger Benjen Stark.

"Welcome back to the Wall, your Highness," Mormont greeted.

Harry nodded back to both men, before dismount his horse. Handling the reins to a stable boy, Harry turned to face the Old Bear.

"What news of Rayer?" he bluntly asked.

Mormont raised an eyebrow at the question, and exchanged looks with Benjen.

"You'll want to see this," Benjen grimly stated.

Nonplussed, Harry followed his Uncle and the Lord Commander, Arianne and Jon a few steps behind, while Tyene went with the Wolfsguard to take in the sights.

"I went on a Ranging, as you asked, nephew," Benjen began, "While the Lord Commander is sceptical of the White Walkers, he agreed that parleying with Rayder might be better than complete destruction of the Night's Watch.

"I didn't quite get as far as Rayder, but I did meet with a few of the Free Folk, who had some stories to tell," the First Ranger continued, "Didn't end half as well as it started though.

* * *

 _ **Beyond the Wall, some days ago...**_

* * *

 _It had been nearly a week or so since Benjen had left on a Raging, and so far he had little luck finding Rayder and his ilk. As his group huddled around the fire, Benjen heard the crunching of snow coming from the bushes at the edges of the clearing in which he and his men had made camp. Whoever was there they were not the stealthiest of folk and Benjen turned from the fire and stood up, turning to face the trees._

 _"Wait here. I'll go meet with whoever's out there!" he whispered to one man._

 _"Is that wise?" the man whispered back._

 _"If they wanted us dead they would've stuck a dozen arrows in us by now," Benjen said._

 _"Is it wildlings?" one of the others asked._

 _"Aye, most likely," Benjen nodded, "Wait here, I'll be back."_

 _Leaving the clearing, Benjen entered the bush, and sure enough, he came across a group of five members of the Free Folk. He noted that they were pulling a sledge behind them, but from his current position, Benjen couldn't quite see what was on the sledge._

 _"Crow," one of the women greeted with a nod._

 _"I am Benjen Stark," he returned with a nod of his own._

 _"Briar. Don't often get friendly crows," the newly named Briar noted._

 _"Don't often get friendly Free Folk," he fired back to which Briar managed a half-smile._

 _Benjen then managed to catch sight of what was on the sledges, and blanched. On the sledges were the bodies of Ser Waymar Royce and Will. He turned and looked straight into the eyes of Briar, a question clearly written on his face._

 _"We found 'em like this, a few days past," Briar explained, "Normally we'd burn 'em, but I figured you Crows would want to see 'em first."_

 _"One of you lot did kill them?" Benjen asked, bemused._

 _"If you mean one of the Free Folk, then nah, we didn't," Briar denied, "We found 'em, like I said."_

 _Benjen fell silent at this revelation. If the Free Folk didn't kill them, then what did? The wounds inflicted on the bodies suggested weapons, not claws, so it couldn't have been beasts. Frowning, he asked those pulling the sledged to bring them to the clearing._

 _Once they approached the fire, wary glances were exchanged between the Black Brothers and the Free Folk._

 _"You're brave lighting this fire," Briar comment, gesturing to the camp fire._

 _"How so?" Benjen frowned._

 _"Fire can attract all sorts," she ominously stated._

 _"I'm sure with all of us, we can fight off an ambush," Benjen dismissed._

 _"I ain't talking Free Folk," she warned, to which Benjen frowned._

 _"What then?"_

 _"Walkers."_

 _"What?" Benjen whispered, paling._

 _"Aye. I'd wager that it was 'em Walkers that did your fellow Crows in," she said causing Benjen to involuntarily shiver._

 _"Have you seen one?" he asked._

 _Briar snorted, "If I had, I wouldn't be here talking to you, now would I?"_

 _"Where can I find Mance Rayder, then?" he asked, changing the topic, "Perhaps he's seen the Walkers."_

 _"What makes you say that?" she asked, "He's further North, if ya must know."_

 _"He wouldn't have gathered all of the Free Folk for no reason," Benjen replied darkly._

 _Briar barked a laugh, "Maybe your right, Crow. Whatever, I've done what I came for. My group an' I'll be off."_

 _Benjen nodded, and gestured for his Brothers to take the sledges and head back to Castle Black._

* * *

Harry frowned in concern, "Where are these bodies?"

"This way," the Lord Commander said, gesturing for the Crown Prince to follow.

Eventually, the group made it to the storerooms, Harry saw the two corpses laid down on a bench each. It wasn't the pale skin tone that caught Harry's attention, however.

"That is disturbing," he grimly stated.

"What is?" Jon asked.

"The smell," Harry replied.

Arianne sniffed and raised an eyebrow, "What smell?"

"…Exactly," Harry then turned to face the Lord Commander who had a frown on his face, "Lord Commander you need to burn these bodies, immediately."

"Beloved, what's wrong," Arianne pressed, catching Harry's arm.

"The smell, or rather lack of it," Harry answered, "Dead bodies rot and give off a putrid odour. Why is there none here?"

Looks of confusion passed the rest of the group, until Jon realised what Harry was trying to get across.

"His Highness, is right, there should be a smell. Even the corpses of that stag and direwolf, some months back smelled of rot," Jon said.

"Lord Commander, I know the Night's Watch answers to no one but themselves, but I insists you burn the bodies," Harry implored.

Mormont breathed in deeply, and exhaled, "I have heard your counsel, your Highness, but my mind is made. Maester Aemon will inspect the bodies as soon as he's able."

Harry swallowed a scathing remark, and scowled.

"As you wish, Lord Commander," the Prince curtly acquiesced, "May be impose on a set of quarters, while my party stays here?"

"Of course, your Highness," Mormont replied, "May I ask how long you intend on staying here?"

"A few days at most. I will be required to stay in the capital more often than not, now."

The Lord Commander nodded, and left the room.

Harry kicked a nearby stool in frustration, causing Jon and Arianne to flinch in surprise.

"The utter fool!" he snarled, "He's making a huge mistake."

"Beloved, ours not the duty of the Watch," Arianne soothed, "The Lord Commander's mistake is not yours."

Harry signed in consternation, as he rubbed his forehead.

"Whatever," he said, "Let's make do of whatever accommodations they provide with us, and go from there."

The party soon left, and night fell upon the Wall. Harry took residence of the King's Tower with Arianne, as did Jon and Tyene. The Wolfsguard, including the newly inducted Ser Damon, were housed in the common barracks, as was Edric and other such squires.

Harry, however, woke to the sound of scratching on wood. Opening his eyes, Harry saw Fenrir standing upon his hind legs, trying to open the door to Harry's quarters.

"Fen," he grumbled, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, "What's going on?"

Arianne mumbled in her sleep in discomfort, leading Harry to carefully extract himself from his betrothed's embrace, without waking her.

Putting on some clothes, he walked up to his companion, "What is it Fen?"

Fenrir whined, a bared his fangs in a snarl. The direwolf continued glaring at the door, which had deep gouges from Fenrir's claws.

"Is someone out there?" Harry whispered with a frown.

Taking his sword, Harry opened the door as quietly as possible. Entering the hallway, he was met with the sight of his cousin, who had his own direwolf beside him.

"Ghost wake you?" Harry asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, wouldn't stop clawing at the door," Jon answered.

The two men and their direwolves soon entered the courtyard. Silence was they were met with. Not too surprising, given this is was well into the night, but one thing stuck out as not normal to Jon.

"Where are the guards?" he asked, "There should be a few posted, even at night."

Harry cast a wary look around. He then saw a hooded figure in the centre of the courtyard.

"You there, name yourself," Harry ordered.

The figure was silent, but slowly made his way to Harry and Jon. This prompted Fenrir and Ghosts hackles to rise, as Fenrir growled.

"Fen, easy," Harry commanded, but then caught sight of the face of the hooded figure. A gust of wind blew through the yard, blowing the hood down, revealing the face of Ser Waymar Royce.

"What the bloody hell!" Jon yelled, as he raised his sword. Jon then slashed at Royce's arm, and successfully managed to dismember the corpse. Unfortunately, this sudden dismemberment didn't seem to affect Royce, who then wrapped his other hand around Jon's neck. While this happened, Fenrir and Ghost each took a leg and began mauling it, in an effort to force the corpse to release Jon, but fallen Black Brother failed to notice.

Harry, who had temporarily frozen his fear, regained his bearings and discarded his sword, realising the futility of using a blade. He instead decided to what he insisted the Lord Commander do; burn them. Unfortunately, the only flames he could see, was the open brazier a little way off. Realising that his hesitation would get Jon killed, Harry stuck his hand into the brazier, headless of the harm, and pulled out a burning, oily log. Running at the corpse, he smacked the burning log across its head, forcing it to release Jon, who fell to the floor gasping for air.

Harry then, unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around the log and corpse, causing the cloak to catch fire. All the while, the corpse let out an ungodly shriek and thrashed about, which woke up the rest of the castle.

' _Please, let it burn. Let it burn. Come on Death, don't abandon me now,_ ' Harry prayed.

Soon enough, the shrieks subsided and the thrashing ceased. However, the courtyard soon filled up with members of the Night's Watch, along with those of Harry's party.

Jon, who had caught his breath, immediately snapped his head to Harry, remembering how his cousin had saved his life.

"Harry, your arm!" he shouted in alarm.

Harry blinked. It was only then that he realised there was an absence of pain. Looking down at his arm, he drew in a sharp breath of surprise. While the sleeve of his shirt had burned away, his arm was curiously unmarked by the fires. If anything, all he felt was a tingly feeling from the warmth.

"What in the name of the gods," Harry whispered, as he flexed and moved his fingers.

He then looked up to the crowd, who had looks of various reactions and emotions. Jon was surprised, his eyes wide. The Wolfsguard looked shocked, as did Tyene and Edric. The Black Brothers were murmuring amongst themselves, whispers of ' _Targaryen_ ' passing between them. The Lord Commander had an unreadable expression, but it was the look on Arianne's face that confused Harry the most. The Princess of Dorne looked resigned, yet somewhat pleased.

As it was, all Harry could think was that, this revelation changed things, and Harry could decide whether it was for the better.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well, sorry for the cliffhanger, but this was always intended. I mean, the title sort of gives it away. Hopefully, I won't lose readers who dislike the twist.

Now, to answer some reviews:

 **Not killing the mountain** : That's a plot point, sorry.

 **Why is Jon on the character's list?** : He's more or less Harry's best friend, and thus a main character.

* * *

 **Next update** : Again it will mostly likely be two-three weeks, depending on a couple of things. Sorry to those who will be eagerly waiting.

* * *

 **Updates (If any)**

 _23/2/16, 17:13 local time_ \- Changed the scene where Harry says he and Arianne are in an open relationship to Arianne teasing Jon instead.

 _04/3/16, 20:26 local time -_ Removed the lemon scene. It wasn't serving any purpose var increasing word count. If anyone is interested, I might put it up on AO3


	8. The Dragon in the North

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

 **Foreword** : _This chapter didn't really sit well with me, but I couldn't exactly make it any better. If anyone has any constructive advice, meaning no flames, I would appreciate it_.

* * *

 **~ The Dragon in the North ~**

* * *

"Wait…weren't there two corpses?" Arianne asked out loud.

The crowd exchanged glances before swords were drawn. The Black Brothers started panicking, but were snapped out of it by a loud thump. Everyone then turned to the direction of where the sound came from and were granted the sight of Donal Noye standing above a falling figure. Noye was an armour, smith and steward of the Night's Watch, and a former smith and soldier for the Baratheons. Having lost an arm, during the Siege of Storm's End, during Robert's Rebellion, Noye left Storm's End, and subsequently took the Black.

At this time, however, Noye was holding onto a hammer that was currently wrapped in a flaming rag, while the corpse of Will was on the floor, with a caved in head, and smouldering.

"That takes care of that, I reckon," the grizzled tone of the smith spoke out.

The silence was deafening as everyone's gaze switched back to Harry, who squirmed under the scrutiny. Jon, quick on the uptake to Harry's discomfort, spoke up.

"My Prince, we need the maester to check your arm," he said.

"I'm fine, Jon," Harry claimed.

"Be that as it may, you need to have it checked," Jon insisted, "The maester's quarters are nearby."

"Not to worry, I am here," a wheezing voice called out from the crowd. The maester of Castle Black, Aemon, shuffled slowly, with a rotund young man assisting him.

Meeting the wizened old man half way, Harry strode up to the maester, and held out his arm for inspection. However, Maester Aemon ignored the arm, and took Harry's face in his hands.

"Ah, maester?" Harry questioned.

"Hush, boy, let me get a good feel of you," the maester chided.

"Um…okay."

The elderly man felt around Harry's face, as if trying to ascertain something. Eventually, Aemon spoke up;

"You have his cheekbones," he declared.

The crowd remained silent at the odd statement, but in the corner of his eye, Harry saw Arianne struggling to contain her giggles, while Jon barely withheld a snort.

Harry instead asked, "Um, whose cheekbones, maester?"

"My nephew's, of course. Keep up boy," Harry felt out of his depth at the strange comments that the elderly maester was making.

"And, ah, who is your nephew, exactly?" he then asked.

The blind man gave a queer look at the question, but still replied, "Why, Jaehaerys of course."

Harry took a sharp breath, "Jae…Jaehaery? As in Jaehaerys II? Son of Aegon the Unlikely? Then..?"

"You are a Targaryen," Aemon resolutely stated.

" _I'M A WHAT_?!"

"A Targaryen," the elderly man repeated.

"What…but…did my mother lie? She told my Uncle that Robert was my father?" Harry's thoughts raced a mile a minute, as he tried to piece together what was going on."

"You are Rhaegar's son," Aemon quietly said, "You are he who is born of ice and fire, who will guide us through the darkness and lead us to the light. You are the Prince that was promised!"

"I…I…" Harry struggled string a sentence together, and it took a sheer amount of effort to refrain from fainting. Before he could even stumble through denial, he was interrupted by Arianne.

"It is true, Beloved," she calmly said, "You are the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar and his second wife, Princess Lyanna."

"Trueborn? Wait, you knew!?"

The Princess of Dorne nodded, "As do my father and Uncle. Why else do you think my father agreed to the betrothal? He despises Robert for condoning the actions of Tywin Lannister."

"So then…?"

"This will take some time to explain, Beloved. Perhaps we ought to do it in a private setting?"

Getting a nod from the Lord Commander, who yelled at the Black Brothers to return to their posts, Harry, Jon, Arianne, Maestor Aemon, and the Lord Commander took residence of a study in the King's Tower. Arianne then began her explanation.

"My aunt was a frail woman. She had a delicate health because she was born one month before she was supposed to," she began, "It was feared that she wouldn't be able to carry a baby to term, and those fears heightened with her marriage to Prince Rhaegar.

"When she birthed my cousin Rhaenys, she very nearly died from blood loss. The maesters saved her, but it left her unable to bear more children," she continued.

"But then, what of Aegon?" Harry interrupted.

"I'm getting to that," Arianne said, in an irate tone, "When it became apparent that Aunt Elia couldn't produce and heir, Rhaegar feared that enemies of his House would seek to destroy them.

"As I said earlier, Rhaegar married your mother. There was a precedent, as both Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel had more than one wife at a time," she explained, "The laws were never quite changed; the Targaryen's simply lost the clout with the extinction of the dragons."

"And Aegon?" Harry pressed.

"Aegon never exists," Arianne revealed, "He was nothing more than a bastard of Valyrian features my uncle acquired from Essos at the behest of Prince Rhaegar. The baby was to be a decoy, to keep any enemies of House Targaryen from revolting."

"Then why did King Robert rebel?" Jon asked.

"Somehow, someone fed misinformation that Princess Lyanna was kidnapped, when she willingly married Prince Rhaegar, with Aunt Elia's blessing," Arianne answered, "The stipulation was that I would marry the firstborn son. That being you, Beloved.

"Whoever told Brandon Stark that your mother was kidnapped is ultimately to blame for the War of the Usurper," Arianne finished.

Harry was silent at this. His entire life was a carefully constructed lie, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. This effectively meant that Joffrey was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and that way led to disaster if that pissant ever became King.

' _Gods, how would Father take this,_ ' Harry moaned.

Maester Aemon then took his turn to talk, "I will confess that Rhaegar would often write to me regarding matter of state, and how he feared for the future of our House. I was not aware of his second marriage, however."

The gathering then turned to the Lord Commander when he cleared his throat.

"Two ravens came in the night, your Highness," Mormont gruffly announced, holding two letters in his palm, "They are addressed to you."

Harry took them, and opened the one, that was from the Vale.

 _My Prince,_

 _I apologise for the delay of this letter, but I only found out when I returned to the Vale. It would appear knights loyal to Lysa Arryn kidnapped Tyrion Lannister, when the latter was returning from the Wall. In retaliation, Tywin Lannister has started to invade the Riverlands, and subsequently, a border force at the Golden Tooth has fallen to a Lannister host led by Ser Jaime._

 _Just prior to this incident, your Uncle was attacked by the Kingslayer. Lord Stark was unharmed, as men loyal to you intervened, but I am not fully aware of the situation. From what I do know, however, Lord Stark and the King got into an argument, prompting Lord Stark to resign as Hand. It was after this, that the Kingslayer assaulted your Uncle, killing a few of the household guards._

 _Many apologies, my Prince, but I have yet to discover more in regards to the murder of Jon Arryn, but rest assured, I will do my utmost best to find out._

 _Khalen_

Harry palmed his face. The situation was becoming direr each day, and if knowledge of Harry's true parentage spread, then a Civil War would almost definitely occur. This was the last thing the Realm needed, considering the threat from beyond the Wall. Harry then opened the other letter, this time from Caius' second.

 _My Prince,_

 _Caius would report himself, but he is otherwise unavailable. It is my deepest regret to inform you that your Lord Father is dead. He was gored by a wild boar on a hunt. However, Master Caius is of the opinion that King Robert's wine was spiked on the orders of Cersei Lannister, while the spiking itself was done by Lancel Lannister, the later King's squire. As such, the King was far more inebriated than he intended to be._

 _Unfortunately, I have even worse news. Your Lord Uncle has been arrested on charges of treason and regicide. The new Queen Regent has fabricated evidence that you are not the son of Robert, and has declared you a usurper, and put Joffrey on the throne. Lord Stark has been thrown into the black cells to await sentencing._

 _Some good news, however, is that we have managed to rescue Arya Stark, and Syrio Florel. They are in a safe house, but we were unable to save Sansa Stark, who is now a permanent guest of the Queen Regent. I believe Master Caius has plans to extract the prisoners/hostages as soon as possible._

 _However, it may be prudent to join up with your cousin, and raise the Northern banners, if only to come to the aide of the Riverlands._

 _Gildan_

Harry crumpled the second letter in fury. The irony that Cersei Lannister had declared him not the son of Robert was not lost on him, but to imprison one man who had raised him and to be involved in the murder of the man who was his father, by bond if not blood, caused Harry to boil with rage.

"The Lannister's have made their play for the Iron Throne," Harry announced, stunning those present, "Irrespective of my parentage, I now have to fight for my right to the throne."

"What happened?" Jon asked.

"My fa…Robert is dead," Harry corrected himself, "Uncle Eddard has been imprisoned as a traitor to the Crown, and I've been declared a Usurper."

Arianne snorted, "Ironic."

"Quite."

Harry then frowned. He had warned Robb before he left for King's Landing all those months ago, and hopefully his cousin had listened. With enough time and preparation, the North could muster as near as forty thousand men. On short notice, maybe half that. Coupled with the Iron Fleet, Theon could grant him once the Scion of House Greyjoy finally took up his duty, Harry would have a considerable amount of military power at his beck and call. Not to mention, the five thousand men the Lords of the Narrow Sea could provide. Hopefully, the Riverlands would declare for him, and his marriage to Arianne would grant him the loyalty of Dorne, if his betrothed's explanation was anything to go by.

However, the Stormlands would no doubt rally to Stannis Baratheon. The middle son of Lord Steffon would never support a Targaryen, and it remained to be seen if he would be loyal to his nephew, Joffrey. Renly was seduced by the promises of House Tyrell, meaning the Reach had its own agenda. The Westerlands were a given; the Old Lion owed loyalty only to himself. It was the Vale, however, that could tip the balance. Hopefully, Khalen would uncover more information, but until then, Harry couldn't rely on their support.

"We ride for Winterfell," Harry commanded, "From there, to liberate Riverrun, and then…to War."

Jon bowed his head, "I am yours to command, my Prince."

Harry smiled, "Your loyalty does you credit, Jon. Lord Commander, might I make use of a raven or two of yours?"

"Of course, your Highness, but I would appreciate you leaving soon. The Night's Watch are sworn to take no part in the wars of men. Housing you here would conflict with our mandate."

"Of course, we will be gone by midday," Harry promised.

The Lord Commander nodded at that, and left the room.

"Ah. Before you go, your Highness…or is it your Grace?" Aemon enquired.

Harry's eyebrows rose in thought. He hadn't even thought about whether or not to proclaim himself as king.

"I think…that, in the interest of keeping it straight forward, I will be styling myself as Prince Haraldr Targaryen," Harry grimaced slightly at the unfamiliar manner of which he referred to himself. He then carried on, "Until, I'm crowned at some point, anyway."

The elderly maester bobbed his head, "Well, then as I was saying, before you go, I have something to give you."

Gesturing for Harry and the rest to follow, the maester shuffled of the room. The group then entered the wooden keep beneath the rookery that served as the maester's quarters. Inside, the elderly man searched amongst his belongs for a chest. The chest was ornate but locked. Aemon then reached inside his robes for a key, and promptly unlocked the chest. Reaching inside, he pulled out four items. The first was an ovular egg-like stone, black in colour. The second was a hand-and-a-half sword, with a black blade of Valyrian Steel. The third item was a longsword, also of Valyrian Steel, this time with a blade of silver-grey colour. The last item was a circle crown, it too of Valyrian Steel. Set around the band were several big square-cut rubies.

"Those can't be?" Harry began.

"They are as you think," Aemon confirmed, "They were left to me by my kinsman, Brynden Rivers, went he resigned his post as Lord Commander, and left to parts unknown in the North."

"But how did he get them?" Harry asked.

"I never truly asked. Dark Sister was his to wield, even as he was consigned to the Wall," Aemon replied, "I believe Uncle Brynden managed to retrieve Blackfyre during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion, but he never outright said it was in his possession until he gave it me.

"The crown, however, was returned to us, when my grandfather married my grandmother. My grandfather had no use for it, and gave it Uncle Brynden to use as he saw fit," Aemon told them, "The dragon egg, I was told, was something Uncle Brynden found during his occasional travels to Essos."

"Why leave them with you though?" Harry had to ask, "I mean, you could have given them to Rhaegar."

"Because Uncle Brynden told me, in his precise words, ' _To wait for he who is born of ice and fire_ ', which you represent, boy," Aemon explained, "I believe Uncle Brynden had the Sight, and foresaw this meeting."

"The Sight? He was Greenseer?"

"I couldn't say. I do not know the ways of Northern magic," Aemon regretfully answered, "Though, a crow was often known to follow Uncle around."

Suffice to say, Harry was shocked. One of the greatest members of the Targaryen dynasty, irrespective of his parentage, was a greenseer and potential skinchanger to boot. Harry wasn't sure what to believe, but the fact remained that before were the ancestral swords of House Targaryen and a dragon egg. He then reached out for the egg, expecting it to feel cold, but upon touching, Harry was surprised to feel a steady warmth emanating from the egg. Almost immediately, Harry felt a deep stirring within him, almost akin to his magic from his first life, connecting with the egg. Unfortunately, the egg remained as it was, disappointing Harry, who had hoped for it to hatch.

"Thank you Maester Aemon, for these gifts," Harry bowed in gratitude.

"Oh, thing nothing of it, your Highness. All I ask is that you save our House. I had given all hope, when I received word that Viserys and Daenerys had fled to Essos," Aemon replied.

As the trio of Harry, Jon and Arianne left the wooden keep, Aemon chuckled to himself. He could die happy, knowing that House Targaryen would renew itself from the ashes.

* * *

Robb Stark sat in his father's study, in deep thought. The past few days had been a source of a constant headache. Hearing that his aunt seizing Tyrion Lannister resulted in the Old Lion laying the Riverlands to waste was one thing. Finding out his father was arrested for treason was another thing entirely. Both events led to Robb sending ravens to summon the banners. It was fortunate that he heeded his cousin's advice of keeping the levies at a state of readiness. It meant that he was able to field a total of thirty-five thousand men, which were situated at the Neck, near Moat Cailin. Meanwhile the Lords of the North, and three thousand cavalry were making their way to Winterfell.

Then, he received word from his cousin who was at Castle Black. Harry was riding for Winterfell, in order to link up with the Northern troops, and win back his stolen throne. The letter he did send was cryptic, and implied a greater secret that could only be shared in person. He had received the raven the previous day, and Harry had set off from Castle Black on the same morning the raven was sent. Assuming Harry's horse was galloping at full stretch, he would be arrived within the next few hours.

A knock on the door brought Robb out of his musings.

"Come," he ordered.

The door opened, revealing Theon, who had an uncharacteristically serious look on his face.

"The Prince has arrived," he announced.

"Bring them to the Great Hall," Robb commanded, "I will bring mother."

Theon nodded, and left to follow the orders. Robb sighed, before heading to his mother's quarters. The knowledge that his father had been imprisoned had affected his mother greatly. She had been stressed for days, barely eating anything. Knocking on the door Robb spoke;

"Mother," he said, "Harry is here. Come to the Great Hall."

A few moments of silence, and then movement occurred inside the rooms. A minute or so later, and the door opened, to reveal Catelyn. She had obvious been crying, given the redness of her eyes, but she had cleaned up enough to be presentable.

"Shall we?" she asked, with a half-smile.

Eventually, the pair walked in to find Harry, Jon, and two unfamiliar women talking to Theon. When Theon caught sight of Robb, he motioned to the group, who turned around.

Harry strode forward and traded grips with Robb, "Cousin. I came as soon as I heard. I am so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Robb dismissed, "Clearly the Lannisters are making a move."

Harry sighed in relief, and then looked at his aunt.

"Can you explain to me, your sister's actions, Aunt Catelyn? Actions that have resulted in a possible civil war," the way Harry said it, made it clear it wasn't a request.

"The Lannisters are responsible for Jon Arryn's death. She was merely seeking retribution," Catelyn argued.

"And yet my spies tell me the Lannister's are not involved," Harry rebuked.

"What? But that's not possible, they imprisoned Ned!"

"I know. A third party is involved. One that sought to pit the Wolf and Lion against each other, and have succeeded in doing so," Harry's voice steadily rose, anger tainting his voice.

Seeing his mother cringing at the tone, Robb made to intervene, "Do you know who is responsible then?"

"I'm afraid not, but I have men trying to find out," Harry answered. His face then turned grim, "Anyway, let me introduce you to me betrothed, Princess Arianne of Dorne, and her cousin Tyene."

"Your Highness, my Lady, welcome to Winterfell," Robb greeted, which was echoed by his mother.

"And I am pleased to inform you that Jon is now styled as Ser Jon Whitehart," Harry announced with a smile.

"Congratulations, brother," Robb smiled. Catelyn merely offered a stiff nod.

"Now, what I have to say is difficult for me, but it has to be said," Harry began, "Please bear with me."

"What is it, cousin?" Robb asked, watching in trepidation, as Harry struggled to find the words.

"It concerns my parentage," Harry told him in a grave tone, "I am still your cousin and my mother remains your aunt, Lyanna Stark, but my father is not Robert Baratheon."

Robb paused in shock, while Catelyn's eyes widened in shock.

"What are you trying to say, Harry? Are you saying you have no right to the Iron Throne? That my aunt dishonoured self?" Robb demanded of him.

Harry's eyes grew cold at the accusation of his mother.

"Watch your words cousin. My mother did not dishonour herself," Harry warned.

Robb flinched at the anger shown by his cousin, "My apologies cousin. My words were born from frustration. I meant no offense."

"None taken," Harry said, looking at his cousin in askance, "My mother was married when I was born, for future reference."

Robb nodded, still tense.

"The previous day, Uncle Benjen showed us two corpse of fallen Black Brothers. What was strange about that is that they weren't smelling. I insisted that the Lord Commander burn them, but he decided otherwise, "Harry swiftly explained, "That same night, Fenrir sensed something odd, and woke me up. Ghost did the same for Jon.

"As we entered the courtyard, we came across a hooded figure. It turned out to be one of the dead Brothers," Harry continued.

"What!?" Robb and Catelyn both exclaimed.

"I do not know what sorcery this is, but let me finish," Harry insisted, "The corpse was choking Jon, and swords were not stopping it. I was forced to stick my arm into a brazier and grab a flaming log to hit the corpse with."

"But your arm?" Robb looked at the arm in question and saw nothing amiss.

"Aye, my arm is fine," Harry said, "Untouched by the fires, even."

Robb blinked, "Untouched? But-"

Harry then placed his hand in the open fire of the hearth, his skin not even so much as smouldering.

"Fire does not burn the Dragon," Harry murmured, "I am the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I am Haraldr I Targaryen, the rightful King of Westeros!"

Catelyn was shocked into silence. Theon was stunned, his voice opening and closing wordlessly.

Robb, however;

" _YOU'RE A WHAT?!"_

* * *

Eddard, sat imprisoned in his cell. Not for the first time since he was thrown in here, he lambasted himself for even considering coming to the south. Not to mention he questioned his sanity in confronting the Queen regarding the parentage of her sons, when he had no true allies in Court. He groaned as he heard footsteps coming towards him.

Squinting at the bright flame of the torch, Eddard scowled slightly when he didn't recognise the man who stood before him.

"This man greets a man," the figure spoke, in a peculiar dialect, "This man has the name of Caius Costades."

Eddard stared at him with distrustful eyes.

"This man is loyal to a man's nephew," Cosades insisted, showing a familiar ring.

"Why are you here, Master Cosades?" Eddard asked, as he caught sight of the token Harry said that all men loyal to him had.

"A man must be thirsty?" Cosades asked, pulling out a flask from his cloak. He then presented it to Eddard, who took it, and gulped it down whole, breathing in relief.

"My daughters…what happened to them?" Eddard demanded, wiping his mouth.

"A man's younger daughter is safe with this man's brethren," Cosades informed him.

"And Sansa?" Eddard pressed, breathing heavily.

"A girl is a guest of the Queen. Impossible to recover," Cosades said grimly, "This man cannot rescue her."

"You must try! She is my daughter," Eddard demanded, coughing due to the strain of raising his voice.

"Such action would be suicide. A man must decide; save one daughter, or lose both," Caius brutally stated.

Eddard let out a disgruntled noise, in frustration.

"This man has to ask what madness prompted a man to tell a woman that a man knew the truth of a boy's parents." Cosades enquired, curiously.

Eddard leaned his head against the wall.

"The madness of mercy," he wearily stated, "I thought she might try to save her children."

"Children, it is always the innocents that suffer," Cosades commented, "It wasn't the wine that killed a king, nor a boar. The wine slowed a king down and a boar ripped him open, but it was a man's mercy that killed a king."

Eddard looked furious, "Are you saying it is my fault that Robert is dead?"

"A man's revelations hastened a woman's plot to kill her husband," Cosades merely replied.

Eddard deflated, shutting his eyes. He took that statement to mean that his confrontation with Cersei had pushed her into a corner. A corner, where she saw the only way out was by killing Robert. Praying for forgiveness to the old gods, Eddard reopened his eyes.

"My good sister, she has her brother, Tyrion. The Queen won't harm me," Eddard said, scowling at the spy.

"A man is wrong. A woman's brother won his freedom," Cosades revealed.

The spy then looked back into the corridors of the prison. He then looked back to Eddard.

"Is a man well enough to walk?" he asked.

Eddard got up slightly and was handed a hooded cloak. Cosades then handed Eddard a scabbard of a greatsword.

"A man's sword, liberated from a thief," the spy commented.

"Thank you," Eddard curtly replied. Ice was the ancestral sword of House Stark, and was confiscated when Eddard was arrested.

The pair then left the black cells through the hidden tunnels, and eventually made it to a safe house in close by to the port. They then entered the small building, where Eddard caught sight of Arya.

"Father," Arya cried. She ran to Eddard and the pair embraced.

"Arya. I'm glad you're safe," Eddard then saw Syrio Florel, and nodded to the man, "Thank you for keeping my daughter safe."

"It was nothing Lord Stark, Syrio was simply doing his duty," the Bravo replied, with a grin.

Before more words could be exchanged another spy entered the room, this time a young woman, with tanned skin.

"Lord Stark, my name is Gildan, a spy in the service of your nephew," she began, "I have news for you. News that will come as a shock to you."

Eddard frowned, "Go on."

"It concerns the parentage of your nephew," Gildan said.

Eddard narrowed his eyes.

"Careful there. You're treading dangerous territory," he warned.

"Calm yourself, Lord Stark," Gildan calmly said, "What I am about to tell you, is straight from Prince Haraldr himself. He was confirmed the information as true."

"Tell me then," Eddard snapped, "Don't play around."

Gildan smiled without humour, "Your nephew is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the rightful king of Westeros."

A brief pause occurred in the room, before;

" _HE'S A WHAT?!_ "

* * *

It was the following day, and Harry was currently sitting at the head table in the Great Hall of Winterfell, Arianne beside him. The Lords of the North had finally arrived, and suffice to say, there were many voices of dissent regarding whether or not to support a Targaryen, when the North spend the better part of a year rebelling against the Mad King.

The loudest of the voices belonged to one Jon Umber, otherwise known as the Greatjon.

"Let me see if I have this right," he boomed, "The nephew of Ned is no Stag? He's in fact of the very House we all rose against?"

"Aye, my lord. My cousin is the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen, and my Aunt Lyanna," Robb confirmed.

"Why should we support you?" the Greatjon challenged, glaring at Harry, "Why should we send our men to fight for a welp?"

There were yells of approval of the large man's words. Harry's eyes narrowed. He stroked the back of Fenrir, who had growled when the Greatjon raised his voice against Harry.

"I was led to believe there was honour, amongst the men of the North," Harry quietly stated, "I was led to believe than men of the North stayed true to the words. Or are you craven, Lord Umber?"

"Craven!" the Lord of the Last Hearth roared, as he stood up drew his sword.

Harry stood up, "I may be a dragon, but I am a dragon of the North. I know of the Wall, of the Wolfswood. I pray to Old Gods, too."

The Hall fell silent, as Harry spoke.

"And I see before me, my fellow countrymen," he continued, "And I want you to fight, as true men of the North! Not beholden to some pansy from the South."

The Lords stared at the young man before them, enthralled by the speech.

"And men of the North you are. True, and free," Harry declared, looking at each Lord and Lady in the eye, "What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight? Or will you bend the knee to some fucker in the South who thinks us barbarians?"

Voices rose, angry at the insult.

"Aye, if you bend the knee, you will live," Harry carried on, "But when you lay dying on your beds, years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days you earned by being craven, for one chance, _just one chance_ , to come back to this day, and show our enemies; the strength of the North. The courage of the North! _THE FURY OF THE NORTH_!"

A roar of admiration and unity swept through the hall, as any doubts anyone had for supporting Harry disappeared. The Lords hushed, however, when the Greatjon raised a hand to silence everyone.

"A dragon of the North, you say?" he asked, with a scrutinising look.

Harry met the look, unflinchingly, but remained silent.

"Aye, it was the dragons we bowed to," the Greatjon stated, "And one stands before me."

The large man then pointed his sword at Harry and carried on, "My Lords! There stands the only King I mean to bend my knee to.

"THE DRAGON IN THE NORTH!" he declared, kneeling.

Robb grinned, "I'll have peace on those terms. My cousin is the one true king. The Dragon in the North."

He then drew his sword too, and kneeled.

Jon stood up, looking solemn, "Am I your brother, now and always?"

"Now and always," Harry nodded.

Jon then drew the sword Harry gifted him, "My sword is yours. In victory and defeat. From this day to my last day."

"THE DRAGON IN THE NORTH!" the Greatjon boomed.

"THE DRAGON IN THE NORTH"

"THE DRAGON IN THE NORTH"

"THE DRAGON IN THE NORTH"

The declaration was echoed by all the Lords in the Hall, as Harry stood before them all, with a tiny smile upon his face.

Maester Luwin then entered the Hall, a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Your Highness, I have received word from Lord Stark," he said, handing the parchment to Harry.

 _Nephew,_

 _I write to you from a safe house in King's Landing. By the time you read this, I will more than likely be in Dragonstone. Instead of sailing for White Harbour, I will stay with the men loyal to you, and instead meet up with you in the Riverlands._

 _However, I have bad news. Sansa remains a prisoner of the Queen, and is closely guarded. Please tell Cat, that I am eternally sorry for having to leave her behind, but it was a choice of keeping Arya safe or losing both daughters._

 _Do not think for a moment I love you any less for being the son of Rhaegar, nephew. You are my kin, and that is what matters most. And as much as I loved Robert as a brother, my duty is to my blood before Stannis or Renly. So, yes, you have my support, and that of the North._

 _Give my love to Cat, Robb and Rickon,_

 _Your Uncle Eddard_

After finishing reading the letter, he looked up.

"My men have freed Uncle Eddard," he informed them, "And he supports my claim."

Cheers of approval rang through the hall, as Greatjon once more boomed, "The Dragon in the North!"

"What of my daughters?" Catelyn anxiously asked, "Are they safe?"

Here, Harry's expression turned regretful, "Arya is safe, but Sansa remains a captive."

"No," Catelyn whispered.

"My men will do their best to rescue, her, but we need to move fast to liberate Riverrun," Harry confidently said, "Hopefully, we'll capture a hostage of our own to trade Sansa for."

Harry then turned to face the assembled Lords and declared, "Let's go kill some lions!"

The Lords of the North roared in agreement, as the cleared out of the hall. All that remained were Harry and Arianne, the former silent in thought, while the latter stared at former.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

Harry looked at her, then to his shaking hand, "I must be."

Arianne smirked, "Good."

Harry looked up again, surprised, "Why's that good?"

"It means you're not stupid."

* * *

Eddard Stark stood at a balcony overlooking the Narrow Sea. He grieved for the fact that he couldn't save his elder daughter, who was no doubt being tormented by Joffrey. He raged at the fact Lyanna lied to him, and that his brother by bond, Robert, had died not knowing the truth of Eddard's nephew.

So deep into his thoughts he was, that Eddard failed to notice another man coming up beside him.

"When I bent the knee to Robert Baratheon, I had hoped I would serve a worthy King," the man commented, snapping Eddard from his thoughts, "I had thought that King Robert would be a better ruler than Aerys II."

"Robert never desired to be King," Eddard refuted, "He only ever made the claim, shortly before the Battle of the Trident."

"And yet, a King he became," Ser Barristan stated, "Had I known Prince Rhaegar had a living son, I might have waited, until the truth became apparent."

"Would it ever have?" Eddard asked.

"With the Lannisters constantly scheming, it was an inevitability," Ser Barristan sighed.

It came as a surprise, but Eddard and Arya were joined by the Lord Commander and Ser Arys Oakheart, two knights of the Kingsguard who owed no loyalty to the Lannisters. However, they were not alone. With them was Princess Myrcella, the only trueborn child of Robert. When she found out the truth of Joffrey and Tommen, she had fled, fearing that she might be killed by her twin. She could not make a claim for herself, considering that the Laws of Succession put any female heirs behind any and all male heirs, which put Myrcella behind her two uncles.

However, Myrcella had discarded her succession rights, and declared for Eddard's nephew, stating that if Harry wasn't her brother by blood, then he would be her brother by bond. It was a surprising statement, on that Eddard wasn't expecting, but it was heartening to know that Harry had supporters besides his kin.

His mind, went back to the moment he met with the Lords sworn to Dragonstone.

* * *

 _ **The previous evening**_

* * *

 _Eddard sat at the famous Painted Table of Dragonstone, with the Lords Velaryon, Bar Emmon, Celtigar and Sunglass. The meeting between the five men was to decide the course of action in the common conflict. The irony that his once enemies were now his allies was not lost to Eddard, but the revelation that his nephew was a Targaryen had only strengthened the loyalties of the houses of the Narrow Sea to Harry._

 _"How many men can you field, and still maintain a reasonable number of men for your ships?" Eddard asked. Naval warfare wasn't his strongest point, and as such, he deferred to the knowledge of the other men._

 _"Between us, we have five thousand foot soldiers, Lord Stark," Lord Velaryon informed him, "We told as much to Prince Haraldr. This number is independent of the numbers required to crew our ships."_

 _"The ships of the Royal Navy that remain loyal to the Prince have their own crews," Lord Celtigar added._

 _Five thousand men was a pittance compared to the number of men Tywin Lannister had in his invasion force in the Riverlands. Even when adding to the near forty thousand the North had, the Lannisters still had twice the number, and more besides back in the Westerlands. In order for them to successfully crown Harry, the support of both the Riverlands and the Vale was required, but the latter had since taken up an isolationist policy since Jon Arryn's death. The former was crippled, and until they were liberated, would not be able to fully offer support._

 _"Did my nephew leave any instructions?" Eddard asked._

 _"Yes, Lord Stark. His Highness commanded us to prevent any ships bringing war material to King's Landing to be seized, but food to be let through," Lord Bar Emmon replied, "He did not want to peasantry to suffer in the war."_

 _Eddard smiled, "It is rare trait that my nephew possesses."_

 _"Also, Lord Stark, we have decided amongst ourselves, that we wish you to lead the foot soldiers," Velaryon said, "We have little to no experience in terrain warfare, so we would be wasted on the mainland."_

 _Eddard nodded, "Of course. I ask that Sers Arys and Barristan stay with me."_

 _The Lords of the Narrow Sea also nodded in acceptance._

 _"Then we best prepare. However, we will not move until my sons and nephew do, and even then, only when they are close by," Eddard announced, "Otherwise we might find ourselves outnumbers by the Lannister armies."_

 _The Lords nodded once more, and the meeting was brought to a close._

* * *

"Do you believe my nephew would be a good king?" Eddard asked the old knight.

"Me? I believe he's the king Westeros needs," Ser Barriston said, "Especially, after Aerys II and Robert I."

Eddard's mouth tilted into a hint of a smile, "Perhaps. Kingship changes people, however. It certainly changed Robert for the worst."

"Quite. Do you know when we will be marching, my Lord?" the Knight asked.

"I do not know yet, Ser Barristan," Eddard replied, "I would imagine as soon as the Siege on Riverrun is broken, or sometime around then. Too many Lannister swords sit between us and Riverrun."

Ser Barristan bowed, and took his leave. Eddard then returned his gaze back to the Narrow Sea.

Before he went back to his musings, however, he was interrupted once more, this time by his daughter, with Nymeria dogging her footsteps.

"Father, are you busy?" she asked.

"Not really no. Come here," he gestured, and Arya did so. Eddard wrapped an arm around Arya's shoulder and pulled her close, "Is something the matter?"

Arya sniffed, "We left Sansa behind."

Eddard's gripped tightened, "I know. And I will continue to pray to the gods for her safety, but I had to decide whether to keep you safe, or lose the both of you."

"I know that," Arya said, "But it still feels like we're abandoning her."

Eddard sighed, "I know, my daughter. I know."

* * *

It was a few days later, and the Northern host of forty thousand or so was situated at Moat Cailin. Word had been sent that Riverrun was under siege. Breaking it, and possibly capturing the Kingslayer, would go a long way to win this war.

However, a more immediate problem lay before him.

"For thirty years I've been making corpse out of men, boy," the Greatjon boasted, as they ate, "I'm the man you want leading your vanguard."

"Galbart Glover will lead the van," Harry commanded, narrowing his eyes.

"The bloody Wall will melt, before an Umber marches behind a Glover," the Greatjon yelled, "I will lead the van, or I will take my men and march them home."

Harry paused. Even after declaring for Harry, Lord Umber constantly challenging Harry on almost every decision he made. Harry wanted to believe that is was merely him being tested on his leadership, and his worthiness, but Harry was quickly losing his patience.

"Then go, Lord Umber!" Harry snarled standing up, "But remember, dragons to not tolerate oath breakers!"

" _OATHBREAKER IS IT?!_ " the Greatjon boomed, also standing up. The dining hall fell silent, as the two stared each other down.

"I am your King, the Dragon in the North," Harry whispered, but the words still carried strength, "You swore your fealty, and yet I find you challenging me at every turn.

"As I said, go. But when I'm done, I will return North and hunt you down. And once I find you, you will wish for death, beg for it. And then, and only then, will I let you die," Harry warned.

The Greatjon was silent for a scant few seconds, before throwing his head back and loudly laughed. Harry smirked, knowing he had finally earned the loyalty and respect of the Lord of Last Hearth.

"I've seen green boys, with soft meat," he declared, as his laughter subsided, "But you. You're no green boy, lad. Your meat….your meat is bloody tough.

"I'll follow you, your Highness. I'll follow you to hell and back, and no one else," the Greatjon declared, "The Dragon in the North!"

"Well, then. Shall we kill some Lannisters?" Harry asked the assembled men.

He had to smile and the unanimous roar.

' _Winter is Coming, in Fire and Blood_ ,' he thought, savagely.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I know I said it would take two to three weeks to update, but what can I say. I was inspired. I will tell you though; trying to write for Caius in his Lorathi dialect is hard. Here's a little teaser by the way. At the end of the next chapter, Harry's magic will reappear.

Also, as you can see, I've changed the title of the story. It occurred to me that the title, is either misleading somewhat, or too much of a give away. Hopefully, the new one is somewhat better.

Now to answer some reviews:

 **Harry's orientation, and the betrothal to Arianne** : Ah, some didn't like this pairing. First things, first. I didn't really make it clear, but Arianne is bisexual, like Oberyn, and takes females to bed, but never men. Harry is heterosexual, however, but has the occasional lover (not to the extreme of Robert).

 **Harry is oddly tolerant of the Lannisters** : Well, the Lannisters have more power in King's Landing. Not to mention Tywin would declare war if Joffrey was sent to the Wall, or the like. No one can argue otherwise, considering he invaded the Riverlands for the kidnapping of Tyrion, who he despises.


	9. Opening Battles

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Opening Battles ~**

* * *

"Your Highness, breaking the siege on Riverrun should be our first priority," Robb advised, knowing to be respectful in the current situation, "Once we do so, my mother's family will be grateful for it and will definitely declare for you."

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. In order to get to Riverrun, his army would have to cross the Green Fork, either at the Twins, or at the ruby ford. The trouble was that the Twins were under the control of the Freys, who were notorious for staying neutral in conflicts before declaring for the clear winner.

"How many men does the Kingslayer command?" Harry asked the lords in his command tent. Robb, Theon, Arianne and Jon were also present, as was Ser Eyron. Catelyn had elected to remain behind, with a garrison led by Ser Rodrick, in order to assist Rickon in ruling the North.

"Our scouts say that the Old Lion has split his army in two; the Kingslayer commands fifteen thousand at Riverrun, while twenty thousand under the command of Tywin Lannister sits at the Green Fork," Karstark duly reported.

Harry frowned as his mind worked furiously.

However, before he could say anything, two of his Wolfsguard, Sers Balon and Damon entered the tent, holding a young man by the arms. The young man wore a nervous expression his face.

"Your Highness, we found this rat here trying to count our numbers," Ser Balon informed his liege lord.

Harry, still frowning, regarded the Lannister spy in front of him, idly petting Fenrir.

"How high did you get, Lannister boy?" the Greatjon growled, as he stared down the spy. The young nervous spy instead looked at Harry, as if hoping for mercy.

Harry had left bulk of his army in plain view, leaving around twenty thousand a league or so behind, so as to throw off any spies, such as the one before him.

"About twenty thousand, or more, my Lord."

Karstark scowled, gripping the boy's shirt, with his fist, "That's 'Your Highness', you impudent cunt!"

Harry inwardly smirked. His gambit paid off. Now it was time to deliver the masterstroke.

He then stood up, his stare cold, raising a hand, "That's enough, Lord Karstark."

Karstark regarded the boy in his grip as one would filth, before dropping him and moved to the side.

Harry coldly stared down at the spy, and smirked, "Boy, tell Tywin Lannister that Winter is Coming in Fire and Blood."

"Your Highness, you are letting him go?" Robb was stunned, unable to figure out what was going in his cousin's head. Arianne, however, smirked, realising what Harry had in mind.

Harry ignored him, and continued talking.

"I will march on Tywin Lannister, with an army twenty thousand strong behind my back. Each man willing and wanting to rip into a bunch of lions. Go, boy, and tell your precious old lion that," Harry declared, staring into the boy's eyes as he pulled him so close, that their noses were almost touching, "And tell him, also, that I want to know if the legendary Tywin Lannister really does shit gold."

Harry then let go of the boy, who left the tent without further ado.

"Have you lost your wits, your Highness?" Karstark growled, while Greatjon narrowed his eyes, "We just lost the element of surprise!"

Harry snorted, "The Old Lion is smart. He knows that we need to come to him, and will be content to wait. As it is, the spy only reported half our number. A number that Tywin will be expecting anyway, as he doesn't know I had Robb marshal the army in advance. Twenty thousand is the most the North can muster on short notice."

"If that's the case, then the Lannister don't know we out number both armies," Karstark realised.

"Aye, but with the position of both Lannister armies, one could easily reinforce the other, and we'd be caught between a hammer and anvil," Harry grimly stated. He then paced as he went over his plan in his mind, "We need to gain the support of the Frey's."

The Greatjon grunted, "Good luck with that. They're opportunists of the highest order."

"Nevertheless, I need access to the Twins," Harry insisted, "Only then can my plan work."

"What plan," Robb asked curiously.

"I'll tell you all, as soon as we have the Frey's on board," Harry enigmatically replied.

A few hours later, and Harry's army had reached the Twins. Thanks to Theon's excellent aim, all messenger ravens had been shot down, preventing any word of their position from being relayed.

"You'd think Lord Frey would at least defend his liege lord, "Harry commented in a dry tone.

"You expect nothing of Walder Frey, and you'll never be surprised," the Greatjon stated, "Look."

Harry did so, and saw two riders bearing Frey banners, riding towards them.

"Sansa's a prisoner of the Lannisters, and we're stuck here," Robb growled.

"Calm yourself, cousin," Harry warned, "We can't afford to lose tempers here."

"We could take the Twins, your Highness," Theon suggested, "We outnumber them."

"It'll never happen," Jon refuted, "The Frey's have held the Twins for six centuries, and in that time they have never failed to exact a toll."

Harry frowned, ' _So what'll the toll be this time?_ '

Out loud, he turned to Edric, "Saddle my horses. Lord Umber you have command. Robb, Jon. With me."

"Enter the Twins and Frey'll sell you to the Lannisters as he likes, your Highness," Karstark protested.

"Or throw you in a dungeon," Theon supplied, "Or slit your throat."

"I will not hide behind my men, and give out orders that I'm not willing to do myself," Harry firmly stated, "Saddle my horse, Edric."

"You're not going without me, Beloved," Arianne drawled, "I'm not having the Late Lord Frey try and wed one of his ilk to you, as a toll."

Harry rolled his eyes, "As you will. Get to it, Edric."

The squire rushed off to do as he said. As he did so, a sally port opened, a plank bridge slid across the moat, and a dozen knights rode out, let by four of Lord Frey's sons. At the head of the column rode the oldest, Ser Stevron Frey. The Frey's all looked like weasels. Ser Stevron was past sixty himself, and had grandchildren of his own, yet with his father enduring, the knight was forced to remain an heir.

"My father bids me to greet you, and enquire as to who leads this host," he politely spoke.

Harry stepped forwards, and smiled, "I do. I am Prince Haraldr Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna."

A hint of a smile graced the knight's lips, "I'm sure there is a story to be told there. However, I my father would be most honoured if you would share mead and meat with him in the castle, and state your purpose here."

Turning to his Lords, Harry briefly conferred with them, and reiterated his stance on personally meeting with Lord Frey.

"My two cousins, betrothed and I will meet with your lord father, Ser Stevron," Harry said, "Please lead the way."

A short while later and the four of them entered the keep of Lord Frey. It wasn't the first time Harry had visited the Twins, having feasted here two years past. When the Lord of the Crossing greeted the four of them, he was surrounded by his living descendants; twenty living sons, thirty-six grandsons, nineteen great-grandsons, and numerous daughters and granddaughters. There were also several bastards and their respective descendants present as well.

"The man certainly gets around," Jon whispered to his brother, who coughed to disguise a laugh.

Lord Frey was a ninety year old, wizened weasel, with a bald head and crippled with gout in the feet. His newest wife was of the same age as Harry; the eighth to bear the title of Lady Frey.

"It's a pleasure to see you once more, my Lord," Harry said.

The old lord squinted in suspicion, "Is it now? When did we see each other last?"

"The summer before last, my Lord," Harry replied, "I stopped by, on my journey to Riverrun."

"Hmph, so you did. Who's with you?"

"My two cousins, Robb Stark, the heir of Winterfell, and Ser Jon Whitehart," Harry introduced, "And this is my betrothed, Princess Arianne of Dorne."

"I see, I see. Now, enough of the pleasantries. Why are you here?" he bluntly enquired.

"Father, you forget yourself," Ser Stevron reproached, "Prince Haraldr is here at your request."

"Did I ask you?" Frey demanded, "You are not Lord Frey. Not yet. Not until I die. Do I look dead?"

"That is no way to speak to one of your sons, father," a younger son chastised.

"And now one of my bastards seeks to teach me common courtesy," Frey drawled, "Hurry up boy, and speak quickly, lest I find myself an uprising amongst my own blood."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, "I request that you open your gates, so that my army might pass, my Lord."

"To Riverrun?" he sniggered, "Oh no need to tell me, I am not yet so old, that I'm too blind to read a map."

"Aye, to Riverrun," Harry confirmed, seeing no need to deny it, "I plan to break the siege set by the Kingslayer."

"Oh, do you? You're a prince, are you not? Why don't you command, me see where it gets?" the old man snorted.

"It's always polite to ask first," Harry smirked.

"Bah, asking politely never worked for me," Frey spat, "I was polite when I offered my daughters to Lord Tully's brother. I was polite when I offered to foster his son. It got me nothing."

"I'm sorry to hear that, my Lord," Harry said.

"Are you? Bah, spare me your lies, _your Highness_ , and tell me what you desire?"

"As I told you, my Lord, I wish to cross," Harry repeated. His patience was wearing thin, yet he endured.

"So you said," Frey agreed, "What shall your toll be, hm?"

Harry blinked. Then he sighed, "Very well, then my Lord, what will the toll be?"

The Lord of the Crossing sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

Harry took this as to make an opening offer, and did so. He glanced apologetically at Robb, and spoke;

"My cousin is currently unattached, he will marry one of your daughters, or granddaughters, and become the future Lady of Winterfell," he could feel Robbs glare burn into the back of his neck as he spoke, "Both my cousins have no squires, so two of your sons will squire for them. I will also take one of your knighted, but unattached sons into my personal service."

As Harry listed off his offer, Walder Frey's eyebrows rose, until they could go no further. This was a calculated risk by Harry, who knew that the elderly Lord was constantly slighted by others. By offering as much as he did, Harry was effectively stating that he was giving House Frey a position of great honour, something that Walder Frey clearly knew.

However, the old man was nothing if not a haggler.

"What about your other cousin, is he not unattached?" he asked.

"He is to marry Myrcella Baratheon," Harry smoothly replied. It took everything Jon had to not gape is surprise, but Arianne had no such reservations in giggling.

"Is he now? I see," Frey relented, looking somewhat disappointed, "Very well. We have an accord. Perwyn, come here."

A young man, in his twenties approached, and bowed before Harry.

"This is my fifteenth son…or is it sixteenth? No matter. He will serve you."

"Is this your wish?" Harry enquired.

"I would be honoured to serve," the knight stated.

"Kneel," Harry then commanded, and the knight did so.

Drawing Blackfyre, Harry strode to face the kneeling knight.

"Ser Perwyn of the House Frey. Will you, upon this day, pledge your fealty to myself, and stand as a Knight of the Crown?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Does your wish to abandon yourself, and be sword and shield for the sake of my will?"

"Yes, your Highness."

Harry then tapped Blackfyre on both shoulders of the Frey knight.

"I, Prince Haraldr of the House Targaryen, do hereby name you, Ser Perwyn of the House Frey, Knight of the Wolfsguard."

A smattering of polite applause rang through the hall, at the impromptu ceremony, as Walder Frey looked on.

"So, now for a wife for the Young Wolf?"

' _That would be a neat epithet for Robb_ ,' Harry idly thought.

"I would be honoured to marry one of your daughters," Robb stiffly said.

"Hm. I'm sure you are," Frey sarcastically drawled, "Roslin, come here."

A girl of fifteen or sixteen came forward. She had a lithe figure, with long golden brown hair that reached her waist. She had very white skin, an oval shaped face with a small chin, delicate nose, and big brown eyes. There was a slight gap in the front of her two teeth, but otherwise she was a certain beauty.

"Well?" the elderly Lord pressed.

"Robb?" Harry tilted his head towards his cousin.

Robb stared at the girl, as if disbelieving that such a beauty could have existed in this place. He snapped out of his reverie at Harry's voice, and hastened to answer.

"My lady, do you wish to wed me?" he asked the girl.

Said girl seemed startled at the question directed at her. Casting a glance at her father, she shyly answered, "If that is your wish, my Lord."

"Excellent. I will have her sent for, once Riverrun has been liberated," Harry informed them all, clapping his hands together.

"Oh?" he glared at Harry in askance, "And how do I know you'll keep your word?"

"Judging by how Robb can't keep his eyes off your daughter and vice versa, I don't think that will be a problem, my Lord," Harry drawled, causing both Robb and Roslin to blush.

"Ha! I think I might just like you," Frey said, with a cackle, "Now then, three thousand five hundred of my men will march with you. You would not deny my five hundred to defend my keeps, would, your Highness?"

"Thank you, and no I would not," Harry agreed, "I will leave four hundred men of my own; a mix of archers and swordsmen."

Walder Frey nodded in gratitude, and farewells were exchanged.

As they walked out, Jon couldn't help but ask;

"So, when were you planning on telling me that I was to be married?"

"You and Myrcella were giving each other the eyes for the entirety of your stay in the capital," Harry replied, with a smirk, "I thought it would be a good match."

"She is a princess," Jon protested, "I'm just a household knight."

"If Orys Baratheon can marry Argella Durrandon, then you can marry 'Cella," Harry rebuked, his smirk widening.

"But Orys…wait, what? You can't mean?"

"Caught on, have you? Aye. I'm giving you Storm's End, Jon," Harry revealed.

Jon closed his mouth. Whenever Harry got an idea of this magnitude, it was near impossible to dissuade him. However, it couldn't help but have the last word.

"I dread to think Princess Myrcella's reaction to having such a decision made without her input," Jon uncharacteristically drawled

At that, Harry immediately paled, while Robb snorted and Arianne giggled.

"Shit."

Soon enough, the quartet re-joined Harry's army, which numbered at around forty-four thousand. However, a small band rode North, escorting two of Lord Frey's grandsons to be fostered at Winterfell. Now, Harry had enough men for his gambit to work.

He gathered the Lords and captains of his army for a quick meeting.

"My Lords, what is the composition of our army?" he asked, "How many cavalrymen, swords, spears, and the like?"

"We have around twelve thousand five hundred cavalry, your Highness," Robb responded, "The remaining thirty-three thousand five hundred is made up of various kinds of foot soldiers."

"Excellent, I will have a raven sent to Dragonstone to send the five thousand foot soldiers to Saltpans. They will be used to flank Tywin's army at the Green Fork," Harry began, "Robb, I want you to lead twenty-five thousand foot soldiers and two thousand five hundred cavalry to face the Old Lion. March through the night if needs be, but I want you to catch the Lannisters off guard. Lords Umber, Bolton and Hornwood and Robin Flint will join you.

"The remaining forces, will come with me to liberate Riverrun," Harry finished, "Any questions?"

There were none.

"Good, then you are all dismissed, and may the Old Gods be with you."

As the Lords left, Harry signalled for Ser Eyron to remain behind.

"My Prince?" the knight had a puzzled expression on his face.

"You won't like what I have to say, old friend, but I have a mission of utmost importance for you," Harry began, "I am sending you with Robb."

"But my Prince, my place is beside you!" Ser Eyron protested.

"I will have the other five knights, plus many a warrior besides," Harry calmly stated, "I will be protected, Ser Eyron. This mission is one I can trust with no other."

Reluctantly, the knight withdrew his protests, "Very well, my Prince. I am yours to command."

"Good. I want you to capture the Mountain, if possible," Harry ordered, "If not, then I want him dead."

"My Prince?" Ser Eyron questioned.

"A wedding gift, if you will," Harry explained, "I need something to show my sincerity to Dorne, never mind the fact the Mountain needs to be stopped anyway."

"As you will, my Prince," the knight bowed, before exiting the tent leaving Harry alone.

Barely a second later, and another of one Harry's spies approached him.

"My Prince," the spy greeted.

"Tysha, I didn't realise Caius brought back into the fold," Harry commented.

The woman smiled, "I asked."

A raised eyebrow was her answer, to which Tysha carried on, "This war might be a chance for my son to have his father back. What else could I have done?"

"I suppose you're right," Harry mused, "What do you have for me?"

"As you know, Riverrun is under siege, "Tysha began, "What you don't know however, is that Edmure Tully is a prisoner of the Kingslayer's army."

"Troublesome," Harry grumbled, "He'll need to be secured alive."

"Master Caius considering a possible rescue attempt, but it might be near impossible," Tysha continued, "I also have an update on the arrangement of the forces at Riverrun."

Harry raised both his eyebrows, "Continue."

"Riverrun opened the canal that runs between the Red Fork, and the Tumblestone. The Kingslayer had to divide his armies into three, in order to properly cover the ground," the spy explained.

"Hm, if the commander of the garrison in Riverrun can seize the initiative, this might make breaking the siege all the easier, "Harry stated. He then looked directly at Tysha, "After this war is over, I insist you leave my network. If things go my way, your family will be reunited."

Tysha smiled once more, "Thank you, my Prince. I will take my leave."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister was in a quandary. He faced a difficult decision. In his hands he had two choices. One would grant him a sweet relief. The other would sour his mood for the rest of the evening. It could be argued that it was an easy decision to make, and yet here he was twenty minutes later without a decision made.

"You've been at that for nearly half hour, Tyrion," a gravelly voice came from the side, "Make your mind up, or I'll make it for you."

"I pay you to protect me, Bronn, not drink my wine," the Imp rebuked.

"Then pick a cup, and give me the other," Bronn drawled.

"Fine," Tyrion huffed, handing the cup with Dornish Red, "I'll take the Arbor Gold."

The sellsword tipped his cup in a sardonic toast and downed the wine a single gulp.

"Any word on when we'll see some action?" he asked.

"Scouts report that the Stark boy is marching down the Kingsroad, with an entirety of army a little less than twenty thousand. He is a little over a day's march away," Tyrion answered, "It would seem that the plight of his mother's family does not concern him."

"Naïve of him," Bronn lightly commented.

"Perhaps. What worries, me thought, is that there is no sign Prince Haraldr," Tyrion said, with a slight frown. Not all of Ser Addam's outrider's returned from their missions, leaving the Lannister army half-blind opposing army's movements.

"Prince? Didn't ya sister call him a usurper?" Bronn asked.

Tyrion scoffed, "Please. My sister would do anything to see her beloved Joffrey on the throne. Including coming up with falsehood. Even father knows it."

After managing to win his freedom from the Vale, courtesy of Bronn, Tyrion quickly found out that his lord father went to war on the Riverlands for him. Granted it wasn't so much out of love for Tyrion than the slight to Tywin's pride that the led to the Lannister invasion. Consequently, Tyrion found himself put in the vanguard of his father's army.

"Go find yourself a whore for the night, Bronn," Tyrion said, tossing a coin purse, "On me."

Bronn snorted and left.

Tyrion's thoughts then moved on to contemplating where his loyalties lay. A few years ago, he would say it laid with his brother Jaime, and from there to the few members of his family that treated him with kindness; few as they were.

However, when it became apparent that even Jaime wouldn't defend him from their father's anger, Tyrion's faith in his brother was crushed. He remembered it well, as it wasn't all that long ago; some five years past. It was one of the few times Cersei visited the Rock, and Jaime as per usual accompanied her. When he and his brother went riding, they came across a band of brigands accosting a girl roughly of his own age.

As Tyrion took care of the obviously distraught young woman, Jaime drove off the men. Tysha, the girl was name, was an orphan of a crofter who took ill. Tyrion was rather taken to Tysha, who bore no disgust for Tyrion's short stature. Soon enough, Tyrion's affection was reciprocated, and those feelings eventually evolved to love. It was that love that saw the pair marry, by bribed and clearly drunken septon.

Unfortunately for the newlywed couple, Tywin found out, and was furious beyond measure that Tyrion would stain the honour of House Lannister by marrying a commoner. Realising that Tysha was in danger, Tyrion arranged for her to be taken to the only person he had any reasonable amount of trust in; the Crown Prince. It was a ridiculous notion, considering at the time the Prince was barely ten namedays old, but there was something in the eyes that told Tyrion that Prince Haraldr was far wiser than his years suggested.

After successfully sending Tysha away, and consequently seeing her for the last time, Tyrion was forced to bring himself before his father. As he predicted, his father's wrath was a sight to behold. Apparently, it had been a test, one that Tyrion spectacularly failed. Tysha, the Old Lion said, was a whore, and Tyrion was expected to figure that out, not marry her. This was backed up by Jaime, who had supposedly arranged the meeting, by finding the whore, and the men assaulting her.

Now, at the time, Tyrion wasn't the best at reading people, but he was skilful enough to see the deceit written upon his brother's face. That more than anything, angered Tyrion. The fact that Jaime would lie to him at the behest of their father. It was then, that Tyrion decided he would trust no one of his blood, deeming them unworthy of his loyalty. Pretending to acquiesce to the orders of killing Tysha, Tyrion bowed and left, making suitable arrangements.

From there, Tyrion maintained minimal contact with his wife, who had apparently bore him a son, but never able to see her, lest Tywin find out.

Tyrion let out a loose sigh. Deciding to cease with the depressing thoughts, he turned in for the knight. Changing into his nightclothes, Tyrion laid down for a fitful sleep…Only to be woken up by the blaring of trumpets. Or was it Bronn vigorously shaking his shoulder? Tyrion wasn't sure, but he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glared balefully at the sellsword.

"What's going on?"

"The Stark boy stole a march on us," Bronn said, "Marched through the night, and now he's a mile north of here with his army forming battle ranks."

"His army would be dead on their feet. What's he playing at?" Tyrion wondered.

"Hell if I know," Bronn answered, "Your father wants you with the van, now."

"Excellent," Tyrion drawled.

With the assistance of Podrick Payne, Tyrion's newly appointed squire, Tyrion donned his mismatched armour. While he had a personally crafted set, it was back at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion had to make do with what he could scrounge up from Lord Lefford's supplies.

Once he was fully armoured, Tyrion and Bronn mounted the horses they were provided and made their way to the rally point for the vanguard. The Mountain that Rides looked ominous on his horse, wearing full plate, and an enclosed great helm.

"You'll be beside me, Imp," the giant of a man growled.

"Joy of joys," Tyrion said, with a sardonic grin.

The Mountain grunted, and turned away.

"Always a pleasure, Ser Gregor," Tyrion turned away, and faced Bronn, "Keep me alive, and completely unharmed, and there's a bonus in it for you, Bronn."

"Lucky me," Bronn wolfishly grinned.

Looking around, Tyrion saw the Lannister army forming defensive positions. His uncle, Ser Kevan, would lead the centre. Ten thousand men stood with him; a mix of pikemen, archers, swordsmen, axemen and spearmen. Three hundred heavy cavalry rode with Ser Kevan, along with Lords Lefford, Lydden and Serrett.

The right side was under the command of Ser Addam Marbrand, who led four thousand knights and other heavy lancers.

The left side, which was the van that Tyrion was a part of, was led by the aforementioned Ser Gregor. It numbered at one thousand, and mainly consisted of freeriders, sellswords, and untrained levies, that the Lords forced into service. The entire van was mounted.

Meanwhile, Tyrion's father commanded a reserve of five thousand at the rear. It was then, that Tyrion realised that his father luring the Stark boy into a trap, but having the van full of undisciplined troops, and then promptly have Ser Addam flank them. He could only pray that this tactic worked.

It was then that a war horn sounded off in the distance. A northern war horn.

"Well, now. The Pup is here," Tyrion commented, as one would the weather. Inwardly, however, Tyrion was terrified. He had never experience combat in his life; the library at Casterly Rock was more to his suiting that the sparring circle.

Over the hills to the distance, the Northern host made their advance. Tyrion caught sight of banners belonging to the Hornwoods, Flints and Umbers. The flayed man of House Bolton was there as well. And in the centre of the host was the direwolf of House Stark.

Eventually, a full host appeared. However, it was far more than what he had originally thought.

"Bronn, did I not say that the Stark host was less than twenty thousand?" Tyrion asked, his face paling.

"Yep," Bronn replied.

"Then _why_ am I seeing a lot more that?"

"Scouts were wrong?" the sellsword cheekily offered.

"Statement of the blindly obvious Bronn," Tyrion deadpanned.

Ser Gregor waved his huge sword, bellowed a command and then charged forward. The one thousand men followed the Mountain, as they charged the frontlines of Stark host. The northern men halted their advance and formed ranks, spears and pikes in the front. Behind that line were the archers, who took aim at the Lannister vanguard and fired.

First blood went to the Northerners as most of the levies were shot down. By the time the van reached the Stark lines, a good half were already dead or unhorsed. This left Ser Gregor's charge without teeth, and subsequently the huge knight became lost in a sea of enemy swordsmen. The charge, while brave, was futile, and inevitably, the entire vanguard was beset by a myriad spears, pikes, axes and other such weapons.

Tyrion was on the ground, doing his utmost best to try and not die. Screams of pain and terror were all that he could hear, when he blocked out the crashing of steel. He lost his shield to a thrown spear that had lodged itself firmly. His helmet was knocked off by a stray mace, the blow had left a bleeding cut on his forehead. The only saving grace Tyrion had, was that he was still astride his mount.

Typically, the gods were not with him, as his horse was killed by two sword strikes from either flank. What little fortune Tyrion had was spent on not being beneath the horse when he fell. Instead, the Imp found himself facing directly at one fully armoured Robb Stark.

"Ah, young Lord Robb. Come to fight little old me?" Tyrion as with a false smile.

"It would appear that way, yes," Robb tersely replied.

"I see, I see. I do admit, however, that I am surprised to see you leading from the front," Tyrion commented. A Lannister man-at-arms came charging wildly from the side, but a quick side step and stab from Robb saw the man dead.

"Aye, it's not something you southerners do is it?" Robb asked.

"No. No it is not," Tyrion confirmed, "As you no doubt noticed, my esteemed father is currently commanding the reserves."

"Coward," Robb snorted, "My cousin has this idea where he doesn't give orders that he's unwilling to do himself."

"Admirable."

"Isn't it just. Now, I believe we were about to fight?"

"Ah yes, well, about that. See, I quite fancy living, so I yield to you."

Robb narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "You do, do you?"

"Why, yes of course," Tyrion said, "After all, my loyalties lie with Prince Haraldr."

"Oh? Do they?" Robb appeared unconvinced.

"Oh by the gods, here. Take this," Tyrion reached under his hauberk into a hidden pocket, in which he kept a letter, "Knock me out, and then read this. It should convince you."

Robb blinked, and then made to do as the Imp suggested.

In spite of his current circumstance, Tyrion couldn't help but idly wonder what his brother was getting up to.

' _Probably forgetting his duties as a battlefield commander, and chasing after strays_ ,' the Imp inwardly snorted. The next thing he knew, it was struck from behind, and into darkness.

* * *

The Battle in the Whispering Wood could hardly be called as such. When Harry's outriders informed him that the Kingslayer took to leading around two thousand men to hunt down the few surviving and scattered riverlord forces that were harassing his own supply lines, Harry ordered that the Lannister scouts be killed before they could report back. This allowed Harry to plan an ambush, and hopefully take Ser Jaime alive.

Currently, Harry stood above a map of the Whispering Wood, with his captains surrounding him. As he marched down on the western side of the Trident, Harry's armies were bolstered by Mallister forces from Seagard, which gave Harry an ample number of troops to break the siege at Riverrun.

"Theon, lead a small force of a few hundred men," Harry commanded, "Wear Tully colours, and draw the Kingslayer north."

"Yes, your Highness," Theon bowed and left to prepare.

"Once Theon lures the Kingslayer, Lady Mormont's forces will sound horns to confirm that the trap has been sprung," Harry explained, "Lords Cerwyn and Karstark will command the north side forces. Lord Mallister and Ser Stevron will lead the eastern side, and I will command the western side with Jon.

"I must stress the importance that the Kingslayer must be taken alive," Harry emphasised, "Anyone else is fair game, but use your wits when taking hostages of noble blood."

Seeing the murmurs of assent, Harry went on, "No one must be allowed to escape. We do not want word reaching the Lannister forces at Riverrun.

"Are there any questions?" Harry then asked. Seeing none, he finished, "Then may the Old Gods be with you. Dismissed."

Eventually, the part of the northern host that Harry commanded had arrayed themselves as Harry planned. Using a scaled down version of a Myrish eye, Harry observed as Theon led his band North. A few moments later, and a horn from the Mormonts sounded.

"There's the signal. Charge!" Harry roared.

"For the Dragon in the North!" Jon yelled out, which was mirrored by the men.

The riverbed that became a warzone was a cacophony of noise. Cries of pain, clashing of swords, and the ringing of the war horns were all that Harry heard has he dodged, parried, stabbed and slashed his way through the Kingslayer's soldiers.

It was then that Harry found himself facing the Kingslayer himself.

"Ser Jaime! Good to see you!" Harry cheerfully greeted. He then brought Blackfyre and Dark Sister and slashed them down vertically.

The disgraced Kingsguard member grunted in exertion, as he held his own sword perpendicular to his opponent's to block the strike.

"I wish I could say the name, step-nephew," Ser Jaime replied, "Though I am told you aren't my step-nephew at all."

Harry took a step back to dodge the Kingslayers shield bash, "Yes, so it would seem. Though, I should point out your sister falsified her claims."

"Did she now?" Ser Jaime ducked under a scissoring cut, "And yet, you seem to agree with the statement."

"Oh yes. Ironically, your sister…or is it your lover? No matter, you sister is in actual fact, correct. I am not the son of Robert Baratheon," Harry revealed. He then danced around the Kingslayers attack, and managed to catch Ser Jaime on the wrist, who dropped his shield with a wince.

"Is that right?" Ser Jaime dryly observed, "Who might your father be, if I might ask? I doubt your mother would sully herself and bed with some common soldier."

Ser Jaime and Harry circled each other, waiting for an opening. Harry had his swords up in his usual stance, while the Kingslayer looked somewhat uncomfortable without his shield.

"I thought it obvious, what with who my mother was with, for the better part of a year," Harry said.

The Kingslayer's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Well now. That _is_ interesting. Mayhap they'll call me Dragonslayer after I'm done with you."

"Ah, don't get ahead of yourself, _Kingslayer_. You've not won yet," Harry snarled.

"Quite," Ser Jaime smiled, "So…To the death."

"No! To the pain."

Ser Jaime actually paused at that, "I don't think I'm quite familiar with that turn phrase."

"I'm not surprise, so I'll explain," Harry curtly replied, "And I'll use small words too. So that a simpleton such as yourself will understand, you sister-fucking buffoon."

Ser Jaime bemused look morphed into a frown, "Not many would have the gall to so brazenly insult me."

"I'm not most people," Harry grinned, "To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet, below the ankles. Then your hands, at the wrists. Next your nose. After that, it will be your left eye followed soon by your right. But your ears…Oh the ears, you keep and I will tell you why.

"You will keep your ears, so that every shriek of every child that sees your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, 'Dear _gods_! What is that thing?' will echo in your perfect ears. _That_ is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever," Harry finished, his grin widening to borderline bloodthirsty.

"Well," Ser Jaime responded with an arrogant smirk, "To the pain it is."

As if answering to some unseen signal, the two warriors charged. Harry brought Dark Sister up for a thrust into the gap between Ser Jaime's pauldrons and chest plate. The Kingslayer managed to avoid the strike by half-turning to the side. Ser Jaime the followed through with the turn, to bring an overhead strike at Harry's shoulder. Harry managed to dodge the blow, but the Lannister scion's heavy blow managed to knock of Harry's helmet.

The Dragon in the North retreat a few steps, and returned to circling his opponent.

"I have to admit, you're not half as rusty as I thought you might be," Harry admitted, breathing heavily, "Especially considering you were nothing more than a glorified bodyguard."

Ser Jaime scoffed, "Did you really think by brothers and I wouldn't keep in form?"

"Well, it's no secret that Ser Barristan detests your very existence, so…" Harry trailed off with a blatant suggestion.

The Kingslayer actually scowled. It was no secret at all. The Lord Commander was furious that Ser Jaime was retained on the Kingsguard, stating at an oath breaker had no play on an illustrious order. Not to mention that two of the positions were nothing more than political arrangements by Cersei Lannister; Sers Meryn Trant and Boros Blout. The only brother Ser Jaime could possibly say was worthy of being called as such would be Ser Arys Oakheart.

Ser Jaime then picked up his offensive, with a resurgent fury. The anger from Harry's comments, which in hindsight were probably a bad idea, fuelled the strength behind his blows. Soon enough, Harry found himself on the complete defensive.

Harry was parrying away at his opponents attacks, unable to find even the tiniest of openings to exploit. He had hoped that his banter would unsettle the Lannister knight, but evidently that had backfired on Harry. Instead, Ser Jaime had rather expertly channelled his anger, showcasing just exactly why he was called the finest knight of his generation. It also showed, that Harry himself had a long way to go, before he could go about calling himself a master swordsman.

Unfortunately, for Harry, a discarded sword lay in his path and caused him to stumble. This loss of footing gave the Kingslayer the opportunity to take advantage. And take advantage he did. Harry's arms flailed in an attempt to regain balance. Ser Jaime, aware of Harry's unguarded face, swung his sword, intended for a swift kill.

Whether by an utter fluke, or an intervention by the gods, Harry's stumbling made it so that he fell backwards slightly. It was enough of a movement that the swing from Ser Jaime didn't properly connect, but Harry was close enough, that the tip of the sword slash diagonally down from above his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, and down his right cheek. Such a wound wouldn't normally be debilitating, but did enough to startle Harry that he fell backwards onto the ground.

Normally, this would result in a death for any fallen knight. However, Harry was not without allies. The Wolfsguard had taken the chance to charge the Kingslayer. Sers Robar and Balon had managed to successfully push Ser Jaime into an awkward position. Sers Damon, Perwyn and Lucian moved in, and subsequently, the Kingslayer was boxed in.

"Surrender, cousin," the Lannister Wolfsguard demanded. Ser Jaime's eyes darted around looking for an opening, but seeing none, he dropped his sword. While this was occurring, Jon had come in to the aid of his liege lord. Picking up the Targaryen prince, Jon placed Harry's arm around his shoulder and took him to safety.

"Did we win?" Harry gasped out, as blood ran freely down his face.

Jon snorted at his cousin's lack of concern over his own health, "Aye, we won."

Harry mumbled a soft 'good' and then passed out.

* * *

Tyrion woke up to a mother of all headaches. While he did open himself to being knocked out, he did hope that the young Stark had some restraint.

"Are you awake, Lord Tyrion?" the rich baritone voice of Lord Stark asked.

Opening his eyes, Tyrion found himself in a tent, with the Warden of the North his only company.

"Lord Stark. I wasn't expecting to see you here," Tyrion greeted.

"No, I doubt your lord father did either," Lord Stark replied, "He fled when I took to the field."

Tyrion paused to register that statement. Of course his father would flee instead of risking his life. Now that the battle was over, it was clear that the Old Lion put Tyrion in the van, as an excuse to have him killed.

"When did you take to the field, if you don't mind my asking?" Tyrion then asked, curious.

Lord Stark, who was reading a few missives, looked up, "I led the forces from Dragonstone. We took right side by surprise, which prevented them from coming to assistance of your central force."

Tyrion blinked. That shouldn't have made it a total rout against the Lannister army. They had a superior ground, not to mention, more cavalry. He said as much, and got a reply from a regretful looking Eddard Stark.

"I'm afraid your Uncle Kevan was killed by a stray arrow," Lord Stark confessed, "It left the soldiers under his command disheartened, and disorientated. They panicked and broke ranks. It was easy pickings after that."

"I see," Tyrion wasn't all that close to his uncle Kevan. It was his late uncles Tygett and Gerion that he was closest too. His Aunt Genna, too, on the occasion. Uncle Kevan was too much of a yes-man of his fathers, which prevented him from fostering a close relationship.

"The sellsword in your service survived," Lord Stark went on, "He says he wants to say on in your service, and I am not inclined to deny him. He will not be allowed a sword just yet, however."

Tyrion nodded, "That's fine. If you don't mind, Lord Stark, I wish to be left one. Though, please could you send Bronn my way, in about an hour or so?"

The Warden of the North nodded before departing from the tent.

Tyrion resisted the urge to yell in triumph. Not only would it be frowned upon, he really didn't need people questioning his mental faculties behind his back. Nevertheless, Tyrion was finally looking forward to meeting his son. A son he had never seen before. A son that he would do the utmost best to be the best father he can be for.

The opening to Tyrion's tent then opened, revealing Bronn.

"I thought I said to have you come in an hour," Tryion said in irritation.

"Yeah, well, you don't have an hour," Bronn replied, "Stark's marchin' to Riverrun. Turn out your brother lost as well."

That piece of information elicited a snort from the Imp. No matter how much praise their father heaped on Jaime, his brother would never amount to much beyond his talents with the sword. The irony was that had Tryion had a properly proportionate body, he would almost certainly be the heir his father desired. But no, the old fool had to irrationally pin the blame for his mother Joanna's death on him. Tyrion had even quietly admitted to his aunt that had his father shown even a little bit of pride in him, then he would do all the things he did, with impunity,

"How many soldiers did my father lose?" Tyrion asked.

Bronn raised an eyebrow at Tyrion's dissociation of his father, but answered anyway.

"Well, the van was a total loss. The Mountain got himself captured," he began, "Once your uncle got killed, the centre lost it, and took heavy casualties. When Stark senior entered the field, the right flank couldn't get involved.

"All in all, about seven thousand are dead," Bronn finished.

"How on earth did Ser Gregor get captured?" Tyrion asked, bewildered.

"Search me," Bronn shrugged, "All I know is that the guy who did it, is being called the Mountain Breaker. Some knight from the north."

"A knight from the north? Ser Eyron?"

Bronn snapped his fingers, "That's right."

Tyrion's brow furrowed in thought, "But he's the Prince's oldest protector. What's he doing here?"

Bronn shrugged once more, "Don't know. Don't care. C'mon, army's marching in a bit. I think Stark's planning on liberating all the keeps and castles on the way."

"How exciting," Tyrion drawled.

* * *

When Harry came to, the first thing he registered was that he was on a soft bed. The second thing he registered was that his face was bandaged somewhat. He made to rise, but a palm on his chest gently pushed him back.

"Rest, Beloved," came the voice of Arianne, "Everything is fine."

Harry blinked. The bandages on his face itched, and he longed to scratch at them. He then paused as his last known memories returned to him.

"What happened? More to the point? Where are we?" Harry asked.

Arianne smiled, "We are in Riverrun, Beloved. After you passed out in the Whispering Wood. Ser Jon took command, and led the armies to break the siege."

"Jon took command? I can't imagine the Lords were pleased," Harry said with a raised eyebrow.

"No, they weren't," Arianne confirmed with a wry grin, "Not until he shouted at them into submission. After that Lady Mormont and Lord Karstark were more amenable to following your cousin's lead."

Harry nodded, "How long has it been since?"

"Four days, Beloved," Arianne answered, "Breaking the siege did not take long."

Harry was about to ask another question, when a knock at door to his borrowed quarters was heard.

"Come," Arianne called out.

The door then opened to reveal Jon.

"Cousin. Good to see you awake," Jon said.

"Aye, thanks for the save," Harry grinned.

Jon shook his head, "I merely did my duty."

"Modesty is unbecoming of you, Ser Jon," Arianne chided, "Especially when the praise is warranted."

Harry chuckled, as Jon blushed.

"What happened on the Greek Fork?" Harry then asked.

"It was our victory, Harry," Jon revealed with a smile, "Robb lead the first attack, and Father came from the flank and took the Lannister's by surprise."

"Excellent! What about Tywin Lannister?"

"Fleeing south, back towards the capital," Jon replied, "Father and Robb are due to arrive tonight, I believe."

"Good. If we can have an army march south and blockade the Golden Road, then we can cut off King's Landing from further reinforcements," Harry said.

Jon nodded, "I'll see about getting the Riverlords marshalled. The men from the North are weary as it is."

"Aye, they'll want a rest before we march again," Harry agreed. He then yawned, "D'you mind if I take a nap? Wake me up when Uncle Eddard arrives."

Arianne and Jon nodded, as Harry closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

As Jon predicted, Lord Stark and Robb had arrived that night with a small honour guard. After successfully chasing the Old Lion into the Crownlands, The Warden of the North marched further south to occupy Harrenhall, as it was a major stronghold in the western Riverlands. He had then left the Greatjon in command, and suitably divided the troops amongst the newly liberated lands west of the ruined castle, something which the Lords of the Riverlands were grateful for.

To the surprise of many, when Tyrion Lannister walked into the hall, he immediately bent the knee and swore fealty to Harry. Further surprise rippled through the crowd, when Harry informed the Imp that the latter's wife and son awaited him. Tyrion's expression lifted into joy and he pardoned himself to find his family.

Eventually, the festivities subsided and a War Council was convened. The major Lords of the North and the Riverlands, along with a few of the more significant knights, sat at four long trestle tables arranged in a broken square.

As the Lords argued over the proper course of action, Harry's thoughts wondering to the situation his forces were in. With complete dominion over the Riverland's, the only foreseeable way for Lannister forces to reinforce the capital was via the Golden Road. However, the main problem was predicting where the Tyrell host, of around one hundred thousand, would march. If a new host of Lannister levies marched to guard the Golden Tooth, it would leave Casterly Rock vulnerable a host marching up the Ocean Road. The same held true, if the Ocean Road was guarded instead.

However, word had come from the south that Renly Baratheon had crowned himself King, with the backing of the Reach, and half a dozen Marcher Lords of the Stormlands. This put him in direct contention with his older brother, Stannis, who was the legal heir to Robert, given that neither Joffrey not Tommen were the legitimate sons of the late King.

That piece of information came as a shock to Harry. He had some inkling that the relationship between the Queen Regent and the Kingslayer was more than sibling affection, but to try and pose the result of their incestuous affair as a child of the King was too much to bear.

As it was, there was a divided opinion on where to strike first. Many had insisted on striking at the capital, utilising the fleet loyal the Harry in a concerted attack. It was an appealing thought, but left the possibility of being attacked by both Stannis and Renly's respective hosts. Either of the two would have a distinct advantage over a weary army and would more than likely capture the city for themselves should Harry take it first.

Others, like Marq Piper, insisted on attacking the west instead. It was also a popular opinion, amongst the Northern lords as well. It was a decision Harry wouldn't, couldn't make lightly, and he needed more time to consider.

"We cannot strike at the capital," Harry decided, "Not yet, at least. We have to consolidate our control of the Riverlands, as we're surrounded by enemies or those with the potential to become as such.

"First thing's first, however. Robb, you're getting married," Harry continued, "We have to honour our agreement with Walder Frey. Jon, the same for you, with regards to Myrcella."

The brothers flushed at attracting all the attention from those present, as the Lord's jeered good-naturedly.

"And what about our marriage, Beloved?" Arianne asked in her typical sultry voice.

"I have decided that we shall marry on the same day that I am crowned King. That is to say. Once I have taken King's Landing for my own," Harry went on, "As much as would like to get it out of the way, a Royal Wedding will do wonders for morale, when it done properly."

Arianne nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"Aye, it sounds like a plan," Eddard agreed, "Rest our weary troops, and then decide after."

Murmurs of assent went through Hall, as each and every one stood up to go to their rooms.

* * *

After the meeting regarding the Baratheon brothers, Harry took a walk with Fenrir a little way from Riverrun and stood alone in a clearing in the Whispering Wood. In his hand was the dragon egg gifted by Maester Aemon, and Harry felt it time that he tried to hatch it.

He wasn't sure why he felt to make such an impulsive decision, but he felt it had something to do with the Red Comet in the sky. Something about it was making Harry's blood stir. Not to mention he was feeling a rather familiar sensation, almost akin to a low electrical current running across his body.

He then moved to gather dry wood for a bonfire, and soon enough Harry had a sizeable pile. He placed got on top of the pile, gesturing to his companion to take a safe distance, and knelt down.

"This shall prove whether I am a true dragon or not," Harry whispered. Searching deep within himself, Harry found what he was missing for the last sixteen years; his magic. He pulled on it, tugging hard, and found that he had no resistance at all.

" ** _IGNEM MORTIS!_** "

Invoking the fiendfyre curse, Harry ignited the bonfire, ignoring the startled yelp of Fenrir. The fires were controlled, but violent, completely engulfing Harry. Yet in all this, the Prince was untouched by the fire, save for his clothes being burnt off. He then looked down to see the flames latch onto the egg in a spider-web like pattern. The flames then exploded and extinguished, leaving the clearing covered in smoke.

When the smoke cleared, Harry stood there, as naked as the day he was born. The wound that went across his face had healed, leaving being a thin, but noticeable scar. A strange lizard-like creature hung around his neck, chirping. Looking closely, Harry realised he was successful; the egg hatched into a dragon.

Studying the creature, Harry found it rather like a miniature Hungarian Horntail, from his first life. It had black coloured scales, and silver coloured horns and tiny spikes that protruded from its tail. Oddly, the dragon had a shade of eye colour identical to Harry's. Later, however, when Harry would study a mirror, he would find himself with a mismatched set of eyes, with his left becoming a haunting violet colour; the same shade known to belong to Targaryens.

"What shall I call you, hm?" Harry mused as the dragon crooned. It snuggled into its 'father's' neck, while Fenrir cautiously approached his human and rubbed his own head on Harry's bare leg.

He had to let out a smirk when he heard Fenrir snarl at the newcomer, while the dragon screeched in return.

"Now, now. Settle down both of you. You are my both partners, I would not see you fight each other," Harry grinned, "Yes, Fenrir. We are still partners for life."

The wolf let out a howl in happiness. Harry then turned to the black dragon and grinned as he instantly knew what to call the beast.

"What say you to the name Jörmungandr, hm?" Harry suggested, "Balerion the Black Dread reborn."

The newly named Jörmungandr screeched in approval, as Harry grinned in satisfaction.

Harry then scratched the chin of Jörmungandr, and stroked the back of Fenrir, who both crooned at the attention paid to them.

"Together, we shall take this world, Jörmungandr, Fenrir," Harry softly declared, a bloodthirsty grin stretching on his lips.

Oh yes, the war for his throne had just begun. Soon, though, only one would remain, and he would take the world by storm, for the winter was coming in fire and blood.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Battle scenes are hard to write. If anyone has any suggestions or advice, please PM me or write in a review. It would be greatly appreciated.

Also, it's finally here. Harry has his magic. I pondered endlessly as to when Harry should get it magic. Then I remembered that magic in Westeros died with the dragons, so it was always my plan that Harry would regain his with the appearance of the Red Comet which coincides with his and Daenerys' eggs hatching. As for how much magic is involved, Harry won't suddenly be fling spells like nobody's business. The most he will have is some elemental spells, telekinesis, and skinchanging. The Starks will manifest skinchanging as well, and I might have Bran become a full greenseer like in canon.

Now to answer some reviews:

 **Similarity to canon** : Now that I've mostly gotten the first novel out of the way, I'll be making significant changes. Expect Baelish to fail miserably.

 **Harry's acceptance of being a Targaryen** : He's basically suppressing it. There will be a point where the pressure gets to him.

 **Voldemort's possible reincarnation** : I dunno. I might, but at the same time, sundering his soul condemned him to purgatory. It's a neat enough idea, I just need a way to write it in.

 **Which sword does Harry use** : He dual wields, because I think dual wielding is badass.

Any other reviews, I personally PMed you.

* * *

 **Next update** : Hopefully next week.


	10. The War of the Four Kings begins

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ The War of the Four Kings begins ~**

* * *

Harry smirked as he took in the reactions of the lords. The previous night, he managed to sneak Jörmungandr into his quarters without anyone noticing. It was mostly so that he could spring the surprise the following morning.

"By the gods," Eddard whispered.

"That's a…That's a dragon," Karstark breathed.

Robb, however, grinned, "The Dragon in the North! None can challenge his claim."

The lords echoed the chant, while Harry stood listening. Arianne then approached him, them, with a tentative smile.

"Who might this be, Beloved?" she asked, nervously.

Harry gave a reassuring smile, "This is Jörmungandr. He hatched from the egg Maester Aemon gave me. Don't worry. He's pretty gentle."

"Gentle is not a word I would use to describe a dragon, Beloved," Arianne wryly stated.

Harry laughed slightly before conceding the point, "I suppose not."

Jon, who had moved past his initial surprise walked up to the pair, "How fast will it, he, grow?"

"I do not know," Harry confessed, "I will have to confer with a maester. It has been well over a century since the last dragon died.

"Moving on. After we have had breakfast. I wish to convene a War Council," Harry said, "It is time we planned our next move."

A few hours later, and a War Council met up, in the similar fashion as was the previous night. At one side of a broken triangle, sat the Warden of the North, with his bannermen beside him; Robb sitting to the immediate right of his father. On the left side of the northern contingent sat Ser Edmure Tully, who represented his father. Lord Hoster was severely ill, and was at deaths door. So much so that both his daughters were sent for, but only Catelyn had responded.

At the final side of the triangle, sat Harry. Arianne sat at his left, while Jon sat at his right. Jon position at Harry's right was effectively a statement that the former was the latter's most trusted. This wasn't too far a stretch from the truth, as Harry had the intention of naming Jon his Hand. Not to mention the newly anointed knight was being given Storm's End.

Harry then stood up, bring the idle conversation to a halt.

"My Lords, and ladies, it is time to decide where we will move from here," Harry began to speak, "As I understand it, the Riverlands took heavy casualties in the initial attacks at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun."

"Yes, Your Highness," Ser Edmure replied, "At most, we can field around forty-five to fifty thousand men. However, casualties from the two earlier battles total around ten thousand. Which puts the strength of the Riverlands at thirty-five thousand."

"I see. That puts us at in the range of sixty to seventy thousand men, all in all," Harry said. He then considered where to put those armies.

"Your Highness, what news do we have in the south?" one of the Riverlords asked.

"It seems that Stannis Baratheon has fallen prey to the teachings of the red god," Harry announced with disgust. The lords present matched Harry's distaste for the eastern religion, whether they be the northern lords who preferred the Old Gods, or the Riverlords who were brought up with the Seven.

"What of Renly?" another lord inquired.

"He is amassing a host, in the Reach," Harry revealed, "Reports are coming in that his army numbers close to hundred thousand."

All those in the hall exchanged looks of worry. House Tyrell had some of the best trained soldiers. Not to mention they could easily supply said army with enough food, given that the Reach supplied most of the grain in the Seven Kingdoms.

"However, before we decide where to attack next, I have another issue that must be dealt with," Harry went on, "As you may or may not be aware, I am not the last Targaryen. Aside from Maester Aemon of the Night's Watch, there is another; my aunt Daenerys.

"Ser Barristan. I am tasking you to go to her in Essos, and escort her back to Westeros," Harry commanded, "Take as many men as you need, but not so high a number that it would slow you down."

The old knight looked to argue, but Harry forestalled him.

"This is not a punishment," the Prince said, "More that I know I can trust you to do your utmost best to ensure my aunt's safety."

Ser Barristan looked mollified at the explanation, and bowed his head in deference, "As you will, Your Highness."

"Excellent. I would have Ser Arys accompany you," Harry said, "As I said, take a band of men, and escort her safely. I will warn you however, that she has a disgraced knight in her retinue; Ser Jorah Mormont. I understand he is an agent of the Spider. Be careful."

Both knights, formerly of the Kingsguard nodded, as Harry turned to face Theon.

"I believe it is time you took your seat, Theon," Harry decided.

"Your Highness," Theon raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"I need the Iron fleet, Theon," Harry explained, "If I'm to successfully invade the Westerlands, I need to do so by sea and land. The Lannister's have yet to properly rebuild their fleet following the Sacking of Lannisport."

"Ri…right," Theon stuttered out.

"Is something the matter?" Harry inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"No…just, bad memories, is all," Theon replied.

"Theon, I'm not about to ask you to permanently stay on Pyke," Harry gently stated, "In fact, I have a better idea."

Theon blinked, "Oh?"

"That's right. I have a challenge for you," Harry grinned, "One that might appease the Ironborn who might not take too kindly to me ordering them about.

"I want you, Theon Greyjoy, to lead the Iron fleet to Lannisport, and occupy it. Once done, you are to attack Casterly Rock, and take it for your own," Harry declared, "Should you succeed. I will name you Warden of the West and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, as Lord Theon Greyjoy of Casterly Rock."

Silence fell through the hall, at Harry's declaration. Planning on having Jon becoming the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands is one thing, as he would be marrying a daughter of the current ruling house, but giving the Westerlands to a house not even a blood relation to the Lannisters was another thing entirely.

"I…I'm sorry…could…could you repeat that," Theon said in a strangled whisper.

"The Old Lion has dreams of a Lannister dynasty that will last a thousand years," Harry explained with a savage grin, "I plan on preventing that. Rather, I will condemn House Lannister to become nothing more than a footnote in Westerosi history.

"I am folding the territories of the Iron lslands, and the Westerlands, into a single Kingdom, under the rule from Casterly Rock," the Prince went on, "The Iron Islands themselves will become the main naval construction yard for the western seaboard of the Seven Kingdoms."

"But what about the Lords of the Iron Islands?" Theon then asked, as he got over his initial shock.

"They will be given lands in the Westerlands," Harry replied, "Castamere and Tarbeck Hall still sit in ruins. And I'm quite certain not all of the Houses sworn to the Lannisters will bend the knee."

Before he could continue, Ser Edmure stood up, "On the topic of the Greyjoys, Your Highness I wish to bring up a matter."

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "Go on."

"As you well know, Asha Greyjoy has been fostered at Riverrun, since the end of Euron Crow's Eye's rebellion," Ser Edmure began, "We grew up together, these past ten years. Eventually, we fell in love.

"I wished to marry her, but Asha was insistent I asked her brother for permission," the Heir to Riverrun paused and looked directly at Theon, "Lord Greyjoy, I hereby ask permission for your sister's hand in marriage."

"Ah…Erm, if Asha's willing, then who am I to stop her?" Theon replied, "Where is she anyway?"

"She isn't here," Ser Edmure answered back, "She's at the Iron Islands, visiting her uncle, Lord Regent Harlaw."

"Right, right. Probably a good thing," Theon muttered to himself.

Harry then clapped his hands together to bring back attention to himself.

"Excellent. Now that that's out of the way, we can focus on our next course of action," he began, "Now, some of you will not like this, but I think it would be best if we let the Baratheon's and Lannister's fight over King's Landing."

As predicted, many of the lords stood up in protest, but Harry raised a hand to prevent them from doing so.

"Please. Here me out first," he said, "We do not have the manpower, to successfully fight three enemies. Not when the Westerlands still have a sizeable number of levies that they can raise. If we time our attacks, then with the Northern men, I can conquer a sizeable portion of the north-western parts of the Westerlands, while Theon seizes Lannisport and Casterly Rock"

"A pincer attack," Eddard murmured.

"Just so," Harry nodded, "In the meanwhile, the Riverlords will strengthen their position, and hold the Kingsroad."

"Your Highness, what about the Vale?" one of the Northern lords inquired.

Harry frowned, "I have some of my men looking into it. The whole murder of Jon Arryn is suspicious to me."

"My good-sister informed my wife and I that the Lannisters were involved," Eddard said, confusion marring his face.

"No. That's not quite true," Harry said, "Whoever killed Jon Arryn knew that the late Hand had incriminating evidence on the Lannister, probably the parentage of Joffrey and Tommen, and used the opportunity to set the Lions and the Wolves against each other."

"Well, it worked," Robb quipped.

"Quite," Harry sighed. He rubbed his forehead, before continuing, "Hopefully, my man in the Vale will reveal the information soon. Otherwise, we might find ourselves with another enemy to contend with.

"You have your orders. See to it that they are disseminated appropriately," Harry ordered. "You are dismissed and may the Old Gods be with you."

* * *

"They have my son," came the deathly calm voice of Tywin Lannister.

What remained of his host was camped at Brindlewood. Thirteen thousand men of the twenty he commanded were all that was left. The Starks had close to thirty and had successfully pushed him down into the Crownlands. Not long after, the remains of his son, Jaime's host joined up; a mere four thousand, what with the Tyroshi sellsword leading the freeriders striking their banners and defecting. All in all, he had lost half his host, and Tywin's hold on the Riverlands was lost.

If Tywin thought the news of his only surviving brother's death was hard to take, the capture of his favoured son blew that thought out of the water.

"Yes, my lord," the messenger said, nervously.

Tywin's face remained expressionless, as he regarded the scout, "And Andros Brax?"

"Dead, my lord," the messenger replied.

"How could this have happened?" Ser Harys Swyft moaned, "How? Even after the Whispering Wood, Riverrun was surrounded. What possessed Ser Jaime to split his men into three camps? Surely he knew how vulnerable that would leave him?"

The skin around Tywin's eyes tightened when he heard the slander from the spineless worm that was his brother's good-father.

"And what would you have done? Ser Harys?" Lord Lefford snorted in derision, "You have never seen Riverrun in your life, or you would have known that Ser Jaime had no other choice. The castle is situated at the point where the Tumblestone flows into the Red Fork. The rivers form two sides of a triangle."

As the Lannister banner man paused to take a sip his win, Ser Addam Marbrand took over, "When Riverrun is under threat the Tullys open two gates at each river to form a deep canal. It effectively turns Riverrun into an island. To properly surround the castle, the sieging host must place camps north of the Tumblestone, south of the Red Fork, and between the rivers to the west of the canal."

"They speak truly, my Lords," the messenger said, "We'd built palisades around each camp. However, with the rivers cutting us off from each other, no word was able to be spread for a warning. Nor did any warning come from our scouts.

"The north side camp was hit first. By the time anyone knew what was happening, the palisades were destroyed, and riders poured into the camp, cutting down anyone in their path," the messenger went on, "I was in the west camp, sleeping. When we heard the north camp was under attack, Lord Brax led us to the rafts to aid them. The current was too strong though, and we were pulled down stream. The Tullys then threw rocks at us, breaking the rafts. Most broke, and the men drowned."

"My lord father-"Ser Flement Brax struggled to ask the question.

"I am sorry, ser," the messenger apologised, "Lord Brax was clad in full plate armour when his raft was overturned. He was…very gallant."

' _He was a fool_ ,' Tywin thought. Crossing a river at night on a crude raft, wearing armour. That was the height of stupidity. It was a pity Brax's son Ser Tytos wasn't here. Irrespective of the name, the young knight had potential. Far more than Tywin's useless other son, at any rate.

"The western camp was overrun too," the messenger went on, "As we crossed, more north men swept in on armoured horses. I saw the white sun of Lord Karstark and the Mallister eagle.

"I saw a banner I didn't recognise though. It was a black banner with a white direwolf and a falling star," the man continued, "The man leading the charge had a white direwolf beside him. The monster ripped our horses apart, and killed four men by itself. When our spearmen formed up a shield wall and held against their first charge, Tytos Blackwood led a sortie across the drawbridge and took them in the rear."

"Gods save us," one of the other lords swore.

"A knight I didn't recognise set fire to the siege towers we were building. Another knight, Ser Lucion Lannister I think it was, then found Ser Edmure Tully in chains among the other captives, and made off with them," the messenger then finished.

Tywin rested his chin upon his interlocked fingers. Only his eyes moved as he listened. His bristling golden side-whiskers framed a face so still that, to an observer, it would have appeared to be a mask.

"A Lannister knight?" Marbrand asked, in confusion, "With the northern men?

"I seem to recall that the Stark's nephew had a Lannister in his service," Lefford commented, "Could we not use him to assassinate the boy?"

"It wouldn't work," Brax told them, his face pale, "Lucion has a deep sense of honour. He would sooner fall on his own sword than sully it."

"How could it happen?" Swyft wailed, "Ser Jaime taken. The siege on Riverrun broken. This is a disaster!"

"Rather than stating the obvious, why not offer a solution, Ser Harys?" Marbrand scathingly bit out.

"What can we do? Ser Jaime's host is all but slaughtered. The Starks and the Tullys have successfully pushed us out. Marching west would put us too close to the Reach! Casterly Rock is vulnerable to the enemy, and what's to stop them from marching? My lords, we are beaten. We must sue for peace."

"Peace? How? We have nothing to negotiate with?" Marbrand fired back, "We're losing, if you haven't noticed. Granted two battles doesn't win a war, but we're definitely on the defensive!"

"We have Stark's eldest daughter, do we not? We could offer her in exchange for Ser Jaime" Lefford suggested.

Marbrand snorted disdainfully, "As much as I want Jaime back, my Lord, that would not be a fair exchange."

"At least I'm offering ideas!"

"Gentlemen, now isn't the time to argument amongst ourselves," Serrett chided.

"We must ransom Ser Jaime, whatever it costs," Lefford argued.

"We ask for a truce, they will laugh at us, and deny us," Marbrand furiously retorted, "We ought to march on them at once!"

"Perhaps our friends at court could supply with more troops," Swyft suggested, "And someone might return to Casterly Rock, to raise a new host of fresh levies."

Tywin had enough. He abruptly stood up, and slammed his palms on the table where they held their conference.

" _THEY HAVE MY SON!_ " he repeated once more, in a voice that cut through the endless chatter like a sharp sword through flesh, "Leave me. All of you."

As the men scurried out of the hall, lest they feel the Old Lion's fury, Tywin allowed himself the luxury of visibly showing weakness and slumped back into his chair. He cursed the foolishness of his daughter. He would certainly be having words with her, over her stunt in imprisoning Eddard Stark. He wasn't so blind as to realise Cersei's 'evidence' was worth little more than the paper it was written on.

Closing his eyes, he offered a small prayer for his brother. While Tywin wasn't religious by any means, he knew Kevan was fairly devout, and for his sake Tywin prayed.

"The best we can hope for, is to return to the capital, and bring my errant grandson to heel," the Old Lion mumbled, before getting up from his seat.

* * *

Smoke filled the air as Ser Davos Seaworth regarded the scene before him. They were all aflame; Mother, Father, Maid, Warrior, Crone, Smith and even the Stranger. All Seven were burning, in a great bonfire, the layers of paint upon the old and dry wood providing the fuel. Even the heart tree of the godswood was part of the fire.

"An ill thing," Allard Seaworth murmured, "The gods won't like this."

"Silence yourself," Davos hushed, "Remember where you are."

Allard closed his mouth, but maintained his sullen expression. Hundreds had come to view the burning of the Seven. Already, the sept of Storm's End had been sacked. It was not a pleasant sight to bear witness, Davos was certain. The Septon was put to the sword for protesting. Several of the queen's men, who were devout followers of the red god had killed a few knights who had attempted to defend the Sept.

The red woman then walked around the bonfire three times. As she did so, she prayed; once in the speech of Asshai, once in High Valyrian, and finally in the Common Tongue. Of the three, Davos only understood the last.

"R'hllor, come to us in our darkness," she invoked, "Lord of Light, we offer you these false gods, these seven who are one, and him the enemy. Take them and cast your light upon us, for the night is dark and full of terrors."

The words spoken by the red woman were echoed by Queen Selyse, while beside her Stannis watched with an impassive face. The king was dressed finer than he was wont to do, as though he were at a sept. Though given the circumstances, one could argue this was a similar event.

Davos wasn't the most devout of men, being a smuggler and all. However, he did make offerings to the appropriate god, depending on the situation. Before going into battle, he would pray to the Warrior. Before launching his ship, he would offer a small prayer to the Smith. Finally, whenever his wife had been close to birthing one of his children, he prayed to the Mother for their safety. Even he felt uneasy as he watched them burn.

Davos once more mourned the passing of Maester Cressen. The elderly man was a friend, and did not deserve his death. According to the gossips, the old man had challenged the Lord of Light and been struck down for his impiety, but Davos knew the truth. He had seen the maester slipping poison into the wine cup, intent on sacrificing himself to kill the red woman. Unfortunately, he had failed, and through some sorcery, the woman survived, while Cressen died. All the incident did was serve as proof to Stannis that the red god held power.

Melisandre spoke up once more, "In the ancient texts, it is written that there will come a day when an eternal dark winter shall fall down on a long summer. In this dreaded hour, a warrior shall come forth and draw a sword of fire. And that sword shall be name the Lightbringer; the Red Sword of Heroes. He who wield the blade is Azor Ahai reborn, and the darkness shall flee before him."

She lifted her voice, so it carried out over the gathered host, "Azor Ahai! The Warrior of Light, and the Son of Fire! Come forth, for your sword awaits you!"

Stannis strode forward and plunged his hand into the fire with his teeth clenched. He grasped the sword with his gloved hand, and wrenched it free of the bonfire with a single hard jerk. Then he took a few steps backwards, the sword held high. Eldritch-green flames licked around the cherry-red blade. Guards rushed forward to beat out the cinders that clung to the king's clothing.

"A sword of fire!" Queen Selyse cried out in joy. Ser Axell Florent and the rest queen's men took up the chant;

"A sword of fire!"

"A sword of fire!"

"A sword of fire!"

Melisandre lifted her hands above her head, "Behold! For the sign that was foretold has been revealed! Behold the wielder of Lightbringer has come forth! Behold! Azhor Azhai is reborn! All hail the Warrior of Light! All hail the Son of Fire!"

The chanting grew louder and louder, as more of the spectators to the event echoed the queen's men.

"Lord of Light, cast your magnificence upon us!" Melisandre shouted, as the flames of the bonfire spiraled upwards into the sky.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," Selyse and her queen's men replied.

Unable to see anymore, Davos turned away, intent on finding a tavern. He headed towards a weathered little inn that he frequented the most. It sat at on the end of the stone pier where Black Betha, Wraith, and Lady Marya shared mooring space with a half-dozen other galleys of one hundred oars or less. A gargoyle squatted on the front of the inn. Its features were eroded by rain and salt to the point that they were close to obliterated.

The tavern was full of noisy patrons; sailors from various ships, merchant captains attempting a few under-the-table deals, even a couple of sellsail captains were present. One man however, immediately caught the eye of Davos. Salladhor Saan was a Lyseni pirate. He was a sleek, smiling man whose flamboyance was known in both Westeros and Essos. His fame was such that he styled himself as the Prince of the Narrow Sea, a title none disputed. During Davos' smuggling days, he would often purchase cargo from the pirate.

Catching eye of the smuggler turned knight, Saan gestured for Davos to come over.

"You didn't come to see the gods burn, did you? Davos asked, as he strode over and sat down.

"The red priests in Lys have a grand temple. They are always burning this or that, crying out to their R'hllor," Saan began to reply, "It became woefully boring."

"Mn. Do you have news perchance?" Davos then asked.

"I do, indeed. My Bird of Thousand Colours came in yesterday. Called into port at King's Landing," Saan said, "The Lord of Casterly Rock has been forced to retreat to the capital. It would seem that the Starks and the Tullys pushed him out."

"How many men does Tywin Lannister have left, then?"

"Better part of seventeen thousand, I'm told."

"What about King's Landing? How strong are the goldcloaks?"

"You ask many questions, Ser knight," Saan sighed, "Seven thousand, maybe eight. I do not know, precisely. They are green though. Easily beaten."

"I see. Thank you," Davos said.

"No thanks are necessary," Saan waved him off, "When do you think the king will bid us to sail?"

"Soon. I would imagine," Davos replied, "I will send word as soon as I know myself."

"My gratitude, Ser knight. I must excuse myself. I hunger, and a meal awaits on my Valyrian," Saan got to his feet, and swaggered away from the table and out of the inn.

Davos lingered over his tankard of ale, for a while more, mulling over the information he had just received. The Stormlords loyal to King Stannis numbered close to thirty thousand. It would have been closer to forty-five, if the Marcher Lords had not sworn loyalty to Renly, who now had over a hundred thousand at his beck. Davos hoped a peaceful resolution would come about between the surviving sons of Lord Steffon. It would give them a distinct advantage over the Lannisters. However, for the life of the ex-smuggler, Davos couldn't figure out why his Grace was turning against Prince Haraldr. He didn't for one moment think that Cersei Lannister was truthful in declaring the Crown Prince as a northern bastard. No. There was something Davos was missing, and for the life of him, he needed to find out.

"Ahem. My lord father," the voice of his son Devan interrupted his thoughts, "His Grace commands you to attend him in his War Room. You are to come at once."

"Thank you Devan," Davos rose from his chair, and left the inn. Outside, stood a saddled horse. Realising that the horse was for him, Davos swiftly mounted, and headed for the main keep. A short horse ride later, and Davos was soon at the main castle of Storm's End.

He entered the War Room, finding the new maester, Pylos, with the King.

"Ser Davos," Stannis said he caught sight of Davos entering, "Come have a look at this letter."

"It looks well enough, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I do not know how to read," Davos could read maps and sea charts well enough, but he had never taken the time to learn his letters. Something he ought to have remedied by now, he supposed.

"I had forgotten," A flash of irritation went across the King's face, "Pylos, read it to him."

"Yes, Your Grace," The maester then picked up one of the parchments and cleared his throat.

" _All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved brother_ -"

"He wasn't my beloved brother," Stannis interrupted, "I did not love him, nor did he love me."

"A harmless courtesy, Your Grace," Davos supplied.

"A lie. Take it out," Stannis ordered.

Pylos made a note of it, and continued, " _That Robert, our late king, left only one daughter as his trueborn issue, my niece, Princess Myrcella Baratheon. The boy Joffrey, and the boy Tommen being born of incest between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, by right of bi_ -"

"Jaime Lannister, The Kingslayer, call him what he is," Stannis once more ordered.

" _And her brother, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer_ ," Before Pylos could continue, Stannis once again cut in.

"Make it _Ser_ Jaime Lannister, the man is still a knight, even if he is one of ill repute," Stannis told the maester.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, the _Kingslayer_ ," Pylos recited, " _And, the boy, Haraldr, being born of Rhaeg_ -"

" _Lord Haraldr Targaryen. The boy is, after all, the last of the House Targaryen_ ," Stannis interrupted him with his eyes narrowed.

And there is was. The final piece of the puzzle. Eddard Stark's nephew was not the son of Robert Baratheon. Now it all made sense why Stannis was rebelling. Renly was seduced by Tyrell ambition, but His Grace would always do his duty. Right now, that duty was to take a throne that was rightfully, by conquest and law, his. Deciding to withhold his questions until Maester Pylos was finished, he silently waited.

" _And Lord Haraldr Targaryen, being born of Rhaegar Targaryen and_ -" once again, Stannis had something to say.

" _Prince Rhaegar Targaryen_ ," Stannis corrected, " _The man was a prince prior to his death_."

" _Being born of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna_ _Stark_."

" _Lady Lyanna Stark, she was the daughter Lord Rickard Stark. Better yet, Princess Lyanna Stark. She most likely married the Prince_."

Pylos nodded and made the appropriate corrections and the continued, " _I do so by right of birth and blood declare on this day my right to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms._ "

Stannis nodded in satisfaction.

"Make enough copies for each raven we possess," Stannis ordered, "Then I want more made for men to directly post across the Stormlands."

Pylos bowed, and left the room to follow the instructions he was given.

"Your Grace, how is you found out the true parentage of Eddard Stark's nephew?" Davos almost immediately asked.

"My advisor of course. She informed me," Stannis revealed.

"Your Grace, how do we know if this is not supposition?"

"You doubt her power, Ser Davos?" Stannis raised an eyebrow, "You saw her survive the poison."

"Maester Cressen did not deserve such a death, you Grace," Davos quietly argued.

"No. I never wanted Cressen at that feast. He'd angered me, yes, he'd given me bad counsel, but I did not want him dead," Stannis conceded.

Davos decided to drop that line of argument. Whatever proof the King had it must have been enough to convince him. Stannis Baratheon was not a fool. Instead Davos tried another approach.

"Your Grace, I cannot but caution a phrase in the tail end of your letter," Davos said.

"Oh? Which phrase would that be?"

"'Done in the Light of the Lord', your Grace."

"Continue."

"The smallfolk will dislike those words."

"As you did?" Stannis said sharply.

"Your Grace, this religion is foreign to the people of Westeros. You would sooner see a second Faith Militant Uprising, that an acceptance to this Lord of Light."

"Have you gone devout on me, smuggler?" the King then demanded.

"No Your Grace," Davos denied, "While I may pray to the Seven on the occasion, I have no quarrel with your choice in religion. However, I cannot help but wonder if a repeat of what happened in the Sept will occur across the Seven Kingdoms."

Stannis' features hardened, "What would you counsel then, Ser Davos?"

"Let your people worship whoever they desire," Davos said, "Do not publically favour one religion over another. The smallfolk will love you more for it."

Stannis' face was unreadable, as he appeared to mull over the ex-smuggler's words.

"So be it. We will do as your suggest," Stannis finally said, "Now, I want you to lead the men who will publically read the letters I have stated."

"Of course, Your Grace," Davos acquiesced, and left the room.

* * *

Renly sat high on his seat, as he watched the combatants spar. The impromptu tourney before him, was to decide who would become a part of his Rainbow Guard, alongside his good-brother, and secret lover, Ser Loras Tyrell.

Currently, his host of one hundred thousand was camped at Bitterbridge. He had decided to march slowly, so as to wait on his dear older brother. Together, they would succeed in taking the throne, and usher in an age of peace and prosperity. Of course, that was assuming that he could persuade Stannis to be the power behind the throne, while he would be the actual King. It was a fool proof plan! He hoped Stannis would agree, for Renly had no desire to be labelled as 'Kinslayer'.

As the fights before him weren't particularly enthralling, his thoughts soon wavered to when he first heard the shocking news regarding the children of his oldest brother.

* * *

 ** _Several days earlier_**

* * *

 _"The Starks have liberated the Riverlands…and pushed Tywin Lannister in the Crownlands," Mace Tyrell announced, walking into solar, "Under the leadership of Prince Haraldr, they've captured the Kingslayer, and killed Kevan Lannister."_

 _The Lord of Highgarden, his three sons and Renly were gathered in a meeting to decide their course of action._

 _"You can't be serious!?" his youngest son, Loras, hissed._

 _"My nephew always had a talent for warfare tactics and strategy," Renly offhandedly commented, as he paced the solar. In his haste to leave the capital, he missed out on hearing a lot of key information. Like the accusation that Haraldr wasn't in actual fact his nephew._

 _"Talented enough to bring down the Lannister's?" the Lord Tyrell's eldest, Willas, inquired._

 _"One would think so," Olenna Redwyne drily said. She was sat outside on the terrace, and couldn't help but overhear the topic of the discussion, "Tywin Lannister is not one for being easily defeated."_

 _"Mother…this is supposed to be a private meeting," Tyrell sighed in consternation._

 _"Then perhaps you should have closed the door," she fired back at her son, "In any case, you could use my input. It would seem you have precious little facts of your own to go on."_

 _"And what facts do you possess, mother?" Tyrell pointedly asked._

 _The Queen of Thorns gratefully rose to her feet, and approached her son and grandsons._

 _"I know that Eddard Stark has escaped King's Landing and joined with his sons and nephew," Olenna revealed. A half smile played upon her lips as the five men looked at her in surprise. She then continued, "I also know that Stannis is marshalling troops in the Stormlands as fast as he can."_

 _"And what does that have to do with us?" the second born son, Ser Garlan Tyrell, asked, perplexed._

 _"What indeed? I take it you haven't heard what the smallfolk are wittering on about?" she asked. She then sighed in irritation when they none of them answered, "I think this might explain everything."_

 _The elderly woman the passed a piece of parchment to Renly._

 _He took it with a slight frown, his curiosity superseding his caution. Renly's eyes widened in surprise. Bringing the parchment closer to his eyes, he reread the words, this time more carefully. Narrowing his eyes in thought, he considered what he read. That Joffrey and Tommen weren't Robert's sons wasn't all that earth-shattering. He had seen enough of Robert's bastards to know that the Baratheon seed bred true and strong. By the Gods, how had anyone missed that? Maybe Myrcella having the typical features of Baratheons threw observers off._

 _'Was this the reason why Jon Arryn died?' Renly wondered._

 _However, this wasn't the most shocking revelation. The fact that his favourite nephew, Haraldr was not in fact in nephew was enough to blow his mind into oblivion. Renly then look up at the others, his face deathly pale. With Robert having no trueborn son as an heir, Stannis had declared himself the rightful King, which, objectively, he was in the right to do. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder what the true ruler of Highgarden wanted._

 _"You need to think quickly," said queen told him._

 _"What do you mean?" Renly asked feigning ignorance. As he did so, Loras tugged the declaration from Renly's grasp._

 _Olenna Redwyne looked unamused at the attempted deflection, "I mean, do you want to bow before another brother, one who is quite possibly more unpopular than Robert? Will you swear fealty to a King who is likely to burn his enemies, in a similar fashion to Aerys II? Or, will do you neither, and declare for yourself?"_

 _"Mother!" Mace gasped, taking the declaration from Loras, who was holding it out to him._

 _"Wait a damn moment. Are we really considering this?" Willas then demanded, "We were loyal to the Targaryens in the Rebellion. We should be swearing loyalty to them now!"_

 _"Bah, I doubt that its true," the elderly woman snorted, "The Starks can pretend all they want."_

 _"On your heads, then," Willas warned, "I will have nothing to do with this."_

 _The heir to Highgarden stormed out. Ser Garlan looked uncertainly at his father and grandmother, before following his older brother out of the solar._

 _The Knight of Flowers ignored the actions of his two brothers, and looked directly at his lover._

 _"You are more popular than Stannis," he said._

 _"But he's older than me," Renly said._

 _"There are some in the Stormlands who would support you. Particularly if Stannis is burning Septs," Olenna Redwyne said, "Those who wish to keep with the Seven will declare for you."_

 _"The Reach will support you," Tyrell offered, "If we can come to…an arrangement."_

 _"What kind of arrangement?" Renly asked him, looking at the Lord of Highgarden in askance._

 _"You would marry my daughter and make her your Queen. Also, either myself or one of my bannermen will be named your Hand," Tyrell requested. Renly stiffened, but managed to not look as Loras._

 _"Margaery is the most beautiful woman in the Reach, nay in the Seven Kingdoms. She would make the perfect Queen and she would be popular with the smallfolk," Olenna persuaded._

 _"If you agree, then you would have the wealth of Highgarden and the armies of the Reach behind you," Tyrell promised._

 _"If I take Margaery as my Queen?" Renly asked for clarification, as he glanced towards Loras._

 _"The sooner wed my granddaughter, the sooner you can rally your own loyal troops, and the sooner you can take the Iron Throne for yourself," the Queen of Thorns told him._

 _Renly finally met the eyes of his secret lover._

 _"You were born to be King," Loras insisted, his eyes not leaving Renly's._

 _In that one moment, Renly made up his mind and set in motion his own plans for the Game of Thrones._

* * *

Renly was the brought out of his musings by a soft hand resting on his own. Turning to the owner of the hand, Renly found himself looking into the curious eyes of his newly wedded wife and Queen, Margaery Tyrell.

"Is something wrong, my Queen?" Renly asked.

"I was just about to ask the same of you, my love," Maraerys replied.

Renly blinked in slight surprise, before smiling, "I'm fine, my Queen. Merely considering the events of the last few days."

Margaerys returned his smile, with an uncertain one of her own. Renly knew why. He had yet to properly consummate the wedding, and as such sire an heir. Part of his mind was well aware that he should, but that part was small in size, and suppressed by the larger part that was furious he was betraying Loras.

As soft thump of a body hitting the ground brought Renly's attention to the duelling circle. One of the knights held a knife to the neck of the other. The defeated knight held out his arms in surrender. Renly stood up and applauded the victor. A polite smile adorned his face, but inwardly he frowned, for he knew it was Loras who was the defeated knight.

"Yield. I yield," the Knight of Flowers gritted out.

The opposing knight was silent for a scant few seconds, before getting up, allowing Ser Loras to rise.

"Well fought," Renly congratulated, clapping his hands, "Approach."

The victor did so, proudly striding forward and then kneeling.

"Rise," Renly softly commanded, "Remove your helm."

The knight got up, and did so. Removing the helm revealed a woman's face. Renly was surprised to see the face of Brienne of Tarth. He was aware that the woman desired to be trained in arms, and that Lord Selywn Tarth promised that she was capable. However, her beating Loras was unexpected.

"You are everything your father promised and more, my lady," Renly smiled. "I've only ever seen Ser Loras bested once or twice, but…never quite in that fashion."

"Now, now, my love. My brother fought valiantly," Margaery chided.

Renly's smile tightened somewhat, at his wife's interjection, but continued on, "That he did my Queen. But there can only be one champion. Brienne of Tarth. You may ask of me anything you desire, with reason. If it is within my power, it is yours."

The warrior woman knelt once more, "Your Grace. I ask the honour of a place in your Rainbow Guard."

Murmurs spread through the crowd, as Loras whispered a quiet 'What?' as Brienne continued, "I will be one of your Seven, and pledge my life to yours, and keep you safe from all harm."

Renly regarded the Maid of Tarth for a few moments, before speaking;

"Done," he declared, "Rise, Brienne the Blue. Shield-maiden of the Rainbow Guard."

As the woman rose, Renly knew one thing. If his dear older brother wasn't going to ally with him, then at least Renly had the loyalty of the commoners and smallfolk. His thoughts were vindicated by the words of chants the soldiers were shouting out in pride; his name.

* * *

Tywin Lannister burst into the Small Council chambers. What little of the council that was left were currently in session, no doubt discussing the topic of a letter. It was a letter Tywin himself had received from a runner from Stokeworth. He didn't believe the words pertaining to his children; Lannister are not fool. Except for maybe Tyrion. However, the words regarding the son of Lyanna Stark were more interesting. He cared little if he were a Targaryen or not, but it serve a purpose in supporting his daughter's reckless claim.

Now, however, he needed to bring his underlings to heel.

"Father," Cersei said, surprised, "I was not expecting you."

"I rode ahead with the cavalry," Tywin curtly replied.

Cersei hesitantly nodded. She then handed her father the Pin of the Hand. Tywin pinned the symbol of his position onto his lapel, and promptly sat down at the head of the table. Cersei made to move a chair, to sit beside him, but a fierce glare from the Old Lion stalled that action. The remaining members of the council hastily sat down, so as to not incur Tywin's wrath.

"So, how far has the contents of this _declaration_ reached?" the newly instated Hand of the King asked.

"The entire of the Crownlands are aware, my Lord Hand," the Spider answered, "My birds sing that the whole of the Stormlands, and parts of the Reach are also aware. It is only the fighting in the Riverlands that has prevented the declaration from spreading."

"And in Dorne?"

"I suspect that they don't care, considering the hatred House Martell has for your own, my Lord."

Cersei snorted, "That isn't new information Spider."

Tywin glared at this daughter, cowing her into silence. He then turned to the Small Council.

"How is the news of Eddard Stark's nephew not a legitimate heir being taken by people?" Tywin then inquired.

"It is difficult to say," Varys replied, "The North and the Riverlands are obviously in support. The Vale is adopting an isolationist policy. The Reach and the Stormlands are divided between the Baratheon brothers, and Dorne is strangely quiet."

"That's not answering the question, eunuch, that was merely listing the fact that we do not have any allies," Tywin barked, "What do the people think?"

"Prince Haraldr was much loved by the smallfolk," the Mockingbird took over, "He was a champion of the people, whenever he visited, but he never stayed in the capital long enough to foster any support by those that mattered. He won't find any allies here."

"Finally, someone with the intelligence to answer," Tywin groused. He ignored the obvious disgruntled look from Varys and the smugness radiating off of Baelish.

"Are we just going to ignore the remaining contents of this… _this filth_?" Cersei interjected with a shriek, "Treason is well enough, but this is another thing in its entirety!"

The other councillors, Pycelle in particular, jumped the sudden upturn in the tone of the Queen Regent, yet Tywin remained resolute.

"Why should we?" he calmed asked.

"Because it's an insult! It insults me. It insults Joffrey. It insults _Jaime_!"

"It is words on paper. Stannis' arguments are hyperbole," Tywin calmly retorted.

" _He called me a whore_!" Cersei raged, " _I want those letters burned!_ "

"If we respond in such a manner, we are all but admitting that the contents are the truth," Tywin narrowed his eyes in anger. His voice deathly quiet, he continued, "Are they?"

Cersei face paled, and immediate began to backpedal, "No. No, of course not. But we cannot leave this slight go answered."

"Of course not," Tywin admitted, "Suggestions?"

"Nothing? Let them whisper, they'll grow bored if nothing else comes of it," Baelish suggested, "Anyone with an ounce of sense will see this as nothing more than clumsy attempt to justify usurping the throne. Not to mention, this declaration offers no proof of Stannis' claims."

"Hm, Anyone else?"

"Sow rumours of our own, my Lord Hand?" Varys supplied.

"What sort of rumours?" Tywin asked, intrigued. He found this kind of battle distasteful, but knew that it had its uses.

"Perhaps something of a similar topic, but more easily believed? Lord Stannis has spent most of his marriage apart from his wife. If we made it so that my birds sang that her daughter is baseborn and Stannis a cuckold, well...the smallfolk are always eager to believe the worst of their lords," the Spider tittered.

Tywin nodded in approval, "Doable. Any more suggestions?"

"There was a curious line at the end of the letter. 'Done in the Light of the Lord'. What does that mean?" Littlefinger asked.

Pycelle cleared his throat, "It is a phrase used by those who worship the red god. It is akin to saying 'Written in the sight of the old gods and new'."

"I do recall that Lady Selyse had taken up with a red priestess," Varys reminded them.

Tywin steepled his fingers beneath his chin, "And now it would seem Stannis has done the same. We can use that against him. Have word sent to the High Septon to reveal how Stannis has turned away from the Faith of the Seven. Stannis will have no support there."

Nods of acquiesces came from the others.

"Good, then the next topic of discussion is Sansa Stark," Tywin went on, "Does she know anything?"

"It was thanks to her, that we knew Eddard Stark was planning to escape," Cersei answered, "It helped in tracking his movements."

"And after that?"

"…Nothing," the Queen Regent grudgingly admitted.

"I see. Very well, she will be kept alive. Once we win this, we can have her married off, and install a more sympathetic person as Warden of the North," Tywin decided, "If there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

"But what about Jaim-"

"I said, you are dismissed," Tywin repeated, glaring at his daughter.

As Cersei fled, Twyin sat back in his chair and groaned.

' _Spare me the idiocy of my foolish children_.'

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Straightforward enough chapter, in my opinion. The sides have been drawn, and the men are rallying to their chosen king. As you can see, the first of the differences is taking effect, with the Iron fleet's choice of target. I hope I haven't gone too OOC for some of the characters. Tywin Lannister is particularly tricky to write for. With regards to Harry's magic. I'm trying ever so hard to not making him overpowered. Magic in itself is a game-breaker, particularly when he has no suitable opponents. Next chapter, Harry will begin to express some of the more typical powers skinchangers and greenseers have.

* * *

 **Next update** : I am taking a holiday from the 15th of March to the 1st of April. It is unlikely that I will be able to update before April 10th. Apologies to those who want a sooner update.


	11. Plans and Weddings

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Plans and Weddings ~**

* * *

In the Water Gardens of Dorne, Prince Doran Martell peaceful sat in his wheelchair thinking, as he observed the children playing in the pools and fountains. He had moved to the gardens from Sunspear the previous year. However, the gout he suffered from had left him unable to walk any longer. Hence, the ruling Prince of Dorne had decided to stay in the Water Gardens permanently, so as to prevent any enemies from finding him in his current state of weakness. It was not a terrible life, Doran had to admit. The Water Gardens were the most favourite place in the current world.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"You seem to be lost in thought, brother," the voice of Oberyn Martell called out.

"One does tend to lose themselves, when in such pleasant surroundings, Oberyn," Doran noted, turning to face his younger brother.

Oberyn nodded. He then handed Doran several opened letters.

"You will want to read the missive from Ari, first," Oberyn supplied, gesturing to the smallest of the letters, "After that, read the longer note. It's a common declaration from the Stormlands."

Doran took the offered pieces of parchment, whiling humming in curiosity. After reading the note from his only daughter, a single eyebrow arched in interest.

"Well now. It would seem that the Game has finally moved to the middle stages," the ruling Prince of Dorne commented, "Summon the banners. It would seem my future good-son is about to overturn the board."

* * *

 _Once more Harry found himself in an endless white space, as he dreamed._

 _"_ Huh, back here again. What is it this time, Death _?"_

 _Death appeared, though rather than the flashy entrance from before, she simply faded into existence._

 _"_ **Greetings** , **my Master** _," the entity nodded._

 _"_ Hello. What do you need _?" Harry then asked._

 _"_ **It is not so much what I need** , **but what I can offer you** _," Death replied "_ **Your magic has reawakened**. **This means that you have access to summoning shades**. _"_

 _"_ Okay _?" there was little else Harry could say._

 _"_ **As it is, I have taken the opportunity to bring forth three particular shades** _," Death said, "_ **You may find yourself enlightened by what they have to say** _."_

 _"_ Wait what? Hey, come ba- _" before Harry could finish, Death vanished in a puff of smoke, while at the same time, three figures flickered into existence._

 _The first figure was a tall and handsome man. He had dark indigo eyes that revealed a deep intelligence, and silver-blond hair worn long. A proud look adorned his face, as he stared at Harry. The second figure was a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Arianne; dark hair, black eyes and olive skin. However, there was a certain frailty to her that Arianne did not possess. This woman bore a gentle smile on her lips as she looked to Harry. The third and final figure was another woman that Harry could only describe as an older Arya Stark._

 _"_ Mother _," Harry whispered, as he took long strides. He quickly found himself engulfed in a loving hug, one that he heartily reciprocated._

 _"_ My son _," Lyanna gasped, burying her head into the crook of her son's neck._

 _While Harry would always hold Lily Potter as his first and most important mother, he still held Lyanna Stark in high regard. He still remembered how the woman would sing him to sleep, whenever he got particularly fussy. Even when Lyanna's health took a turn for the worst, she still made sure to keep Harry safe and comfortable._

 _"_ I am so, proud of you, my Harry _," Lyanna tearfully said, "_ I am so very, proud of the young man you've become _."_

 _"_ We all are _," Rhaegar added, in his rich baritone voice, "_ Never doubt for one moment thing that we are not _."_

 _Harry wasn't quite sure when such a heavy load was placed upon his shoulders, but felt the metaphorical weight leave them all the same. Any child would feel exactly the same as he did after hearing the words of both his parents. It was a topic that persistently troubled Harry, from a small age at that. To find out his parents were proud of him was the highest praise he could ever receive, irrespective any mistakes he might make._

 _"_ Thank you _," Harry said with heartfelt gratitude._

 _"_ I suppose I ought to say something profound as well, _" Elia then said, but not unkindly. She then hummed in thought, "_ Nothing comes to mind, however. _"_

 _Rhaegar snorted, while Lyanna snickered at her sister-wife's words. Harry had bemused smile on his face at the words of his betrothed's aunt. When the said woman caught Harry's look, she sighed in exasperation._

 _"_ Oh come now, you've spent enough time with my niece. Surely you can tell when someone is teasing you, _" Elia stated._

 _At that, Harry involuntarily blushed._

 _"_ Ah, so the fierce Dragon in the North is but a mortal man _," Elia giggled, her eyes dancing in mischief._

 _"_ Enough, my wife," _Rhaegar gently rebuked_ , _"_ We do not have much time, and your teasing will give him a complex. _"_

 _Elia huffed, before pouting, "_ As you will, Husband. _"_

 _Rhaegar simply shook his head at the antics of his first wife. Turning to face Harry, Rhaegar spoke once more._

 _"_ When I was killed at the Trident, I resigned myself to a dull afterlife, _" he began, "_ Imagine my surprise when I was visited upon by a pair of interesting folk. _"_

 _Harry blanched._

"Oh, ah. Who? _" he hesitantly asked_.

 _"_ James and Lilly Potter _."_

 _If it were possible, Harry would have blanched even more._

 _"_ You…ah. You know, then? _"_

 _Rhaegar raised an eyebrow._

 _"_ If you are referring to the fact that you have magic, and are a reincarnation of another person, then yes, my son, we know, _" he merely said. Seeing Harry's rapidly paling expression, the Bard Prince hastened to continue, "_ Calm yourself, Haradlr. I am not angry. Far from it, in fact. I'm rather intrigued."

 _What._

 _"_ Intrigued."

 _"_ Well of course, _"_ _Rhaegar said_ , _"_ Come now, Haraldr. Another world, with magic. With civilisations beyond my comprehension. It's rather fascinating. _"_

 _"_ Fascinating. _"_

 _"_ Yes…Are you just going to repeat everything I say? _"_ _Rhaegar then asked._

 _Harry blinked, but waved off the concern, "_ Oh no. Don't mind me. I'm just losing what little sanity I had remaining. _"_

 _"_ If you are certain _," Rhaegar said, slightly concerned, "_ Moving on. The reason why were are here, is because we must warn you _."_

 _"_ Warn me? _" Harry frowned._

 _"_ Yes. You are facing a war on two fronts, my son _," Rhaegar revealed, "_ A fiery shadow from the east, and an icy shadow from the north. This petty civil war needs to be over with soon. _"_

 _"_ Petty? You maybe be my father, but have care of your wor- _" Harry was interrupted by the raising of Rhaegar's hand._

 _"_ I did not mean to cause offence. However, compared to the severity of the threat, this conflict is very much petty, _" the Bard Prince said, with a grimace, "_ After all, this all started because of one man's ambition. _"_

 _Mollified, Harry nodded, "_ What would you have me do? _"_

 _"_ You have the knowledge of an entirely different world, at your disposal, _" Rhaegar explained, "_ Use that knowledge. Strengthen the Kingdoms. Prepare for the enemy's arrival. _"_

 _"_ …You do realise that I wasn't exactly a genius in my last life, _" Harry replied in deadpan, "_ Nor am I much a genius in this life. _"_

 _"_ You are the **Master of Death** , _" Rhaegar replied in equal deadpan._

 _"_ What does that ha _…._ Oh _….Oh…_ I see _," Harry's face lit up in understanding, before frowning once more, "_ It seems like I'm cheating though. _"_

 _"_ My son. For all your wit and intelligence, it is times like this I realise, that you are still young, _" Rhaegar laughed, "_ If you have the power to make a difference, then do so. And do it responsibly. There are some things that Westeros, and Essos for that matter, are not ready for. _"_

 _"_ I…I suppose so, _" Harry conceded._

 _"_ Then do so. And do it with our blessings, _" Lyanna said._

 _"_ Become the King you were born to be, _" Rhaegar urged "_ Renew a dynasty that will continue to thrive for centuries to come."

 _Eyes then turned to the late Princess of Dorne. Who happened to be eating something from a bowl._

 _"_ What? _" Elia asked, her hand hovering over the bowl._

 _"_ Are you…Are you eating popcorn? _" Harry asked, completely startled._

 _Elia frowned in thought, looking down at the contents of the bowl, "_ Yes. I believe that is what James Potter called this snack. Tremendously delicious, I will say that much. _"_

 _"_ Elia, this is an emotional moment, and you ruined it, _" Lyanna huffed._

 _"_ What? It seemed as though you had it well in hand, _" Elia pouted, "_ What more could I add? _"_

 _"_ A word of encouragement would have been useful, _" Lyanna yelled in exasperation_.

 _"_ Ladies, please. Now is not the time, _" Rhaegar gently chided. Both women subsided and the trio the turned to face Harry._

 _"_ It appears our time here is coming to a close, my son, _" Lyanna said, gently placing a hand to Harry's cheek._

 _"_ I'm glad we had a chance to talk _," Harry said, smiling, "_ You have no idea of the weight that has left my shoulders."

 _"_ I think I had a small idea _," Rhaegar returned the smile, "_ Goodbye, my son. _"_

 _The trio then faded out of existence, leaving Harry alone in the white expanse._

 _"_ Hm. Where to begin?" _Harry idly wondered, "_ I suppose I ought to get more experience in my magic. And possibly acquire a wand. Hm…weirwood maybe? _"_

 _Harry then reached inwardly towards his magic. Grasping on the feeling he associated with when he used the Resurrection Stone, Harry tugged._

 _"_ Spirits of Netherworld, hearken to me," _Harry intoned. He formed the image of his desired targets with his inner eye, and then let loose the power._

 _A gust of wind blew, as four spectres formed out of white smoke, before becoming corporeal. Before Harry stood the four greatest sorcerers of their age; Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin._

 _"_ Well then _," Harry began, rubbing his palms together,_ _"_ Shall we begin? _"_

* * *

Jon Whitehart, formerly Snow, had a lot to think about, over the last couple of days. He was currently sitting in the dining hall, breaking fast, with a simple meal of bread and cheese. Had someone told him this time last year that he would be knighted and betrothed, and in line to become a Lord Paramount, he would have laughed at the person telling him.

Yet, here he was. A knight in the sworn service of the Dragon in the North. Not to mention, betrothed to one Myrcella Baratheon. On top of that, it more or less became apparent that Jon was effectively Harry's Right Hand. Who Harry's Left Hand was left open to debate, but the whispers started soon after the breaking of the Siege of Riverrun, when Jon yelled at Rikard Karstark. The latter had insisted on waiting for Harry to recover, before moving to liberate the Tully's, while Jon insisted that Harry would want them to continue regardless, lest they lose the advantage of surprise. Nevertheless, Jon was very much surprised when Lord Karstark relented. Not because he won the argument, Jon knew he was in the right there, but with the amount of deference the Lord showed Jon after that incident. It was only after the immediate battle, that Lady Mormont confided to Jon that many of the Northern lords saw a young Eddard, or even a young Rickard Stark in Jon at that precise moment.

Suffice to say, Jon was rather shocked at the comparison. A year ago, such words would worry Jon once they reached the ears of Lady Stark. It was no secret that it was a point of contention that Jon took more after his father than Robb did. However, now, he felt pride that he would remind other of his father. He may not be a Stark, but he was no less Eddard Stark's son, and for Jon, that was all that mattered.

Jon was snapped out his thoughts, when a hand rested upon his shoulder.

"Look alive, whelp," a voice called out.

Looking up, Jon blinked in surprise, "Bronn? I didn't know you were here?"

"Aye, found meself in the employ o' the Imp," the wolfish sellsword explained, "I see you've moved up in the world."

"No more than you have," Jon fired back.

Bronn snorted, "I'm not a knight. Nor in the service of a prince."

"Some would argue serving the Lannisters is as good as," Jon challenged, "And do you even want to be a knight?"

"Means, I get more gold," Bronn shrugged.

"Of course, how could I forget," Jon rolled his eyes.

"Now you're gettin' it," Bronn grinned, "Do you get paid?"

Jon opened his mouth to answer, but then paused. He then opened his mouth once he found a retort.

"I'm becoming a Lord," he said.

"Really now?" Bronn said, with raised eyebrows, "That's impressive."

Jon was interrupted from replying by a servant who came up to him.

"Ser Jon, the carriages bringing Lady Catelyn, Lady Roslyn, and Princess Myrcella are almost here," the serving girl said, "Prince Haraldr requests that you come."

"Duty calls," Jon groused.

"Onward, chivalrous knight," Bronn teased, raising a tankard of mead.

Jon shook his head in exasperation, before leaving the dining hall and heading towards the main courtyard. A group of men already stood there, with Harry at the front. Two of the Wolfsguard, Sers Lucion and Damon, stood behind him. With Harry were the most prominent lords of the Riverlands and the North. On Harry's left stood Princess Arianne, and next to her, Jon's father. Next to the Warden of the North stood Robb. Ser Edmure stood on Harry's right, with Theon next to the Heir of Riverrun. Curiously, there was an empty space between Harry and Ser Edmure. As he walked to the group, Jon caught the eye of his father's. He subtly gestured to Jon to stand next to Harry, and Jon did so. Glancing to his own right, Jon saw Ser Edmure bristle slightly. He figured it was due to having to stand next to a bastard, but Jon didn't particularly care.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Harry whispered.

"I was breaking fast," Jon quietly protested.

"Relax, Jon. I was merely teasing you," Harry sighed.

Jon was about to retort, when the thundering of hooves rang through the courtyard. A few dozen horsemen rode into the courtyard, much in the same way the late King Robert's retinue did. Yet, unlike the last time where there was an ornate and gilded carriage, this time the carriage bearing four ladies and a princess was of simple design.

As the retinue stopped, a man approached to carriage to open the door. The first to disembark was Princess Myrcella, who quickly strode forward to hug Harry. Whispers were exchanged between the pair, but none so loud that Jon could hear. Suddenly, however, Myrcella jerked back, an expression of surprise on her face. Which soon morphed into one of fury. She then reached forward and grasped onto Harry's ear, much to the shock of those around them.

"I'm getting married?" she hissed. The sheer anger on her face, made Jon gulp. If this was how the Princess reacted to mere fact she was getting married, Jon did not want to see how she would react to the name of her husband-to-be; him.

"AH! Sister! Let go!" Harry uncharacteristically whined, as Mrycella twisted Harry's ear.

"I am not some bargaining chip for you to gain more allies, _brother_!" Myrcella snarled, "You _promised_ that I would have the choice over who I would marry."

The crowd, which included the now disembarked Lady Cateyln, and Lady Roslyn, simply stared at the scene. No one made to interrupt the pair, as they were all stupefied by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Ah, your Highness. If you were to let go, Prince Haraldr will be able to tell you the identity of your betrothed," Jon interjected.

Myrcella gave Jon are dark look, as she let go of Harry.

"Fine," she bit out with a sullen expression.

"Aah…By the gods, Myri, do you have pull so hard?" Harry asked, rubbing his ear.

"Yes," she tartly replied.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Honestly, Myri, I haven't decided to marry you off for the sake of more men. In actual fact, I think you'll rather like who I have in mind for your future husband."

"Oh? And who might that be?" Myrcella scoffed.

"Why, my dear cousin, Ser Jon, of course," Harry smugly revealed.

"What!?" the Princess-in-exile squeaked.

"Oh, yes," Harry grinned, "I saw the looks you gave each other in the capital."

Jon did well to not outwardly give any reaction to his cousin's teasing, but the spluttering from Myrcella was a sight Jon would forever remember.

"I…I'm sorry," Myrcella mumbled, looking mortified, "My behaviour was unbecoming of me."

"It's fine, your Highness," Jon smiled, "I am not offended."

"Excellent!" Harry clapped his hands, "Now then. Let's have the ladies settled in, and then we can move forward with the weddings."

Jon had to raise an eyebrow in confusion. While he understood the necessity for the marriages, he didn't think it would happen so soon. More to the point, he was jealous of the fact that his cousin opted to delay his own wedding, and push Jon and Robb's weddings forward.

"So soon?" Myrcella asked, vocalising Jon's thoughts.

"Yes, sweet sister," Harry replied, "The sooner we do it, the safer your position is. No doubt Stannis and Renly will see you as a threat to their position."

"What? Why?"

"Because, Princess, you are the only trueborn child of Robert," Jon's father interjected, "While the laws of succession set down by Aegon the Dragonbane are still in place, strictly speaking, you are still a viable heir. One with Lannister blood."

"I see," Myrcella replied, in a subdued tone.

"Come then. I presume the weddings will take place before the heart tree?" Harry asked, looking to his cousins. See them both nod, Harry continued, "Very well. They will take place in three days' time. That should be enough time."

Those present bowed their heads before being dismissed. Eventually, the only person remain was Jon, who dutifully remained silent until addressed. He did, however, raise an eyebrow in intrigue when Harry rubbed his forehead, with a look of discomfort in his face.

"Did you not sleep well, my Prince?" Jon inquired.

Harry blinked in surprise, as though only just aware that Jon was still beside him.

"Ah, no. I slept well enough. If not waking up at all counts as a good night's sleep," the Prince answered.

"Then?"

"Strange dreams," Harry groused.

" _Strange_ dreams?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Jon," Harry said, moving to rub his eyes.

"If you say so," Jon relented, "Will your lack of beauty sleep have any detrimental effect on your duties?"

Harry paused in his rubbing, and opened one eye.

"Has anyone ever told you how much of a louse you are?" Harry tetchily asked.

"Yes, by Lady Stark. Many, many times," Jon snarked.

"Ha. Ha. You're hilarious," Harry retorted. His face then turned to one of concern, "She's stopped now, hasn't she?"

"She gives me the occasional cold look, but words are never exchanged," Jon said, waving away the concern.

"At least she knows you aren't just a bastard anymore. If she does say something, come to me. Any insult to you, is an insult to me," Harry firmly ordered, "Now. I want you to oversee the arming of our forces in preparation for the Invasion of the Westerlands. Theon will leave as soon as the wedding is done. Oh, and have Tyrion come to my quarters."

Jon bowed in deference and took leave.

' _I ought to read up on the proper etiquette of a Lord Paramount_ ,' Jon idly thought, as he made to as he was ordered.

* * *

As he watched Jon leave, Harry continued to rub his forehead. As worthwhile as it was to learn from the legendary Four Founders, assimilating the knowledge into his waking mind was still a painful process. Small wonder he hadn't collapsed from the mental strain.

Realising he hadn't fed Jörmungandr yet, he stopped by the pantry to ask for some meat. After handling a rather exuberate cook, Harry was a leg of lamb and a few apples richer. A short walk later, and he reached his assigned quarters. Entering the rooms, he found Fenrir mauling on a piece of meat he no doubted begged for himself.

"Glutton," Harry grinned, as he passed the lounging direwolf. Said wolf merely snorted at his human and went back to his meal.

Harry continued into a balcony in his quarters, where Jörmungandr was curled into a basket. The dragon had grown at a startling rate. At the time of hatching, he was about the size of a small cat. Now he was about the size of a dog. It was barely a week, and Harry was starting to worry about how big Jörmungandr would become. The dragon in question rose his head, no doubt smelling the lamb.

"Here you go," Harry said, offering the meat. Jörmungandr stared at the leg for a scant few seconds, before snapping forward and jerking the offered food out of Harry's hand by his teeth. Within moments, Jörmungandr dived into his meal with reckless abandon.

"Hungry little thing, aren't you?" Harry smiled. Jörmungandr warbled in response, before going back to feeding.

Rolling his eyes, Harry left the balcony, and went back inside. In the corner of his eye, he made note of Arianne and Tyene snuggling under the furs of their shared bed. No doubt the pair had some fun while Harry went over his plans. His plans. After consulting with Death, Harry had decided to introduce some ideas from his first life. Namely a few inventions that would improve his Realm, such as printing presses, and improved sewage systems. The latter idea was something that was on Harry's mind for several years now. The stench of King's Landing was horrific. Harry also had an idea for the decrepit Hill of Rhaenys. Since it's burning the Dragonpit was left untouched, and Harry was fairly unhappy that such a space was left unused. With the Reach rebelling, however, Harry had made tentative plans to build a school, comparable to the Citadel in Oldtown.

The Citadel was something that Harry was extremely wary off. The institute was one of the oldest in Westeros, with a history was some said dated well back into the Age of Heroes. However, Harry had long suspected that the Archmaesters had their own agenda, and quite possibly engineered the downfall of the Targaryen Dynasty. Not to mention the sheer influence the Citadel held. With maester's posted in every holdfast, the Archmaesters held a network of spies that none would care to suspect. Hence why it concerned Harry, as no one but the Crown should have that kind of influence.

Harry also considered building a fortress, in a similar vein to the Arsenal in Braavos on the other side of the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. King's Landing relied on protection from Dragonstone and the surrounding islands for protection from naval attack. However, Harry realised that with Dragonstone sworn to him, the capital was woefully unprotected.

All in all, Harry had a host of ideas, some that could be implemented swiftly, others he might not even live to see to completion. If Harry wanted his iteration of the Targaryen Dynasty to last longer than almost three centuries, then he would need to strengthen the Seven Kingdoms and usher in an era of peace of prosperity. Not to mention to ensure that his House would be loved, instead of hated or feared.

A soft knock at the door interrupted Harry's thoughts.

"Enter," he called out.

The door then opened, and at the entrance stood Tyrion.

"Ah, Tyrion. You came promptly," Harry said, "Come in."

Harry led Tyrion into his study, and sat down behind his desk.

"Wine?" Harry offered.

"One wouldn't say no," Tyrion replied, smiling in thanks.

Harry then poured wine into two goblets. He then scrutinised Tyrion, while sipping his drink.

"I suppose you're wondering why I ask for you?" Harry finally asked.

"The thought did cross my mind, yes," Tyrion replied, "I am literally of no use to you, seeing as you plan on stripping my House of all its titles."

Harry internally winced, but outwardly continued sipping his wine, as he considered the Imp.

"And if I planned on granting you titles?" he then inquired. He held back a grimace as Tyrion coughed in surprise, no doubt because the wine went down the wrong way.

"I beg your pardon?!" Tyrion spluttered.

"I may be stripping Tywin Lannister of all titles, but that doesn't mean you have to have nothing," Harry explained, "House Whent has become extinct. Lady Whent is unaccounted for, and presumed dead. He sons have long since died as well. Which means Harrenhal is without a Lord."

"You can't be serious," Tyrion flatly stated.

Harry snorted, "Oh, but I can. Harrenhal is a seat of Kings. While I'm not going to give you a crown, I do insist that you have a seat of reasonable influence."

"But what about the Tully's? I can't see them amenable to the idea."

"Ser Edmure has no issues with it. On the contrary, he sees it as suitable recompense for your unlawful capture by Lysa Arryn," Harry said, smirking, "So long as you swear the oaths of fealty all lords of the Riverlands swear to House Tully, and you and your family will be set.

"Not to mention, I could use someone with your intelligence to rebuilt Harrenhal," Harry added, "It's sat as a ruin for long enough."

Tyrion sat back in his chair, utterly dumbfounded by the information he had just received. Harry suspected that the dwarf was not expecting to have such honours. Given that the Old Lion had more or less publically stated that he would not see Tyrion as his heir, Harry was unsurprised.

"I…Thank you, your Highness," Tyrion finally said, getting over the shock, "I could never repay you-"

"Repay me, by remaining loyal," Harry interrupted with a smile, "Also, I wouldn't mind you becoming my Master of Laws, once I ascend to the throne."

"I would be honoured to serve you, your Highness," Tyrion returned Harry's smile with his own.

"Then, that will be all, I will keep you from your family no longer," Harry said, before realising he forgot something, "Oh, wait before you go. Would you mind telling me the name of your son? I never got round to asking Tysha."

Tyrion's eyes lit up in joy, "Tysha named him Jason. Five namedays old, and already frightfully intelligent."

"Inherited that from you, I would wager," Harry commented with a wry smile, "Named for your mother's father, Ser Jason?"

"Aye. I didn't wish to sully my son by naming after anyone in my father's immediate family," a sour look adorned Tyrion's face as he answered.

Harry's expression turned into one of seriousness.

"Tyrion. House Lannister has a long history, with its ups and downs," he said, "And right now, your father has dragged House Lannister's pride through the mud, but I sincerely believe that you will reinvigorate the Lannister name. Lann the Clever reborn, some might say?"

"I doubt that. I'm only half the man Lann was," Tyrion chuckled.

"To the hells with that," Harry snapped, "You are twice the man he was. More than that, when compared to your father. I know you will restore House Lannister's pride and honour."

Tyrion blinked in shock, surprised. He then smiled ruefully.

"When you put it like that, I guess I have no choice but to believe it for myself," he commented.

"Damn right, you do," Harry smiled, "That will be all Tyrion, I won't keep you from your family any longer. I would like you to relieve the Greatjon after the weddings."

"Of course, your Highness," Tyrion said. He bowed and then left Harry on his own.

As he sat, contemplating the future of the Seven Kingdoms, he failed to notice the soft footsteps approaching him.

"You have much faith in the Imp, Beloved," the voice of Arianne called from behind. The Princess of Dorne sauntered up to Harry and promptly sat on Harry's lap. Naked as the day she was born.

"Don't call him, Ari," Harry chided.

"Why not? Do not deny that you don't think it," Arianne challenged.

"Thinking it, and saying it are two differently things, Arianne. Please don't insult him," Harry firmly chided.

"He's a Lannister," Arianne sulked.

"He's the best of the Lannisters," Harry corrected, "Besides. I forgot to tell you something. I have a wedding gift for you."

"A wedding gift?"

"Aye. Gregor Clegane is currently in chains at Harrenhal," Harry revealed.

A punch to the nose, which fortunately didn't break it but still hurt, was not the reaction he expected.

"Okay, first off; ow. Secondly; why?" Harry complained, rubbing his face.

"The Battle on the Greek Fork was days ago!" Arianne snapped, "Why didn't you tell me sooner? You know how much my family despises that monster!"

"Uh, surprise?" Harry tried.

Arianne stared at her betrothed in deadpan, before sighing in exasperation. She then pulled Harry into a deep kiss, pushing her tongue into Harry's mouth. A scant few seconds later, and she pulled back, a thin line of saliva connecting them both.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You need not thank me, but you are most welcome," Harry smiled.

Arianne returned the smile, before looking curiously at the plans and sketches on the table.

"What is all this?" she asked.

"This, my dear, is the future!" Harry said, showing his enthusiasm, "There is a lot that needs to be done in order to ensure stability. Much of the systems already in place are archaic and unnecessary. In other cases, new ideas need to be put in place altogether."

Arianne arched an eyebrow, as she read one such plan.

"A complete overhaul of King's Landing's infrastructure?"

"Yes. What's the first thing that everyone thinks of, when they come to the city?" Harry asked.

"The stench."

"Precisely. The cisterns and drainage need to be completely restructured. Flea Bottom and the Dragonpit need tearing down and rebuilt," Harry went on, "Not to mention a complete lack of a naval defence in the event Dragonstone is bypassed."

"And this school? You do realise that the Citadel will raise a stink?"

"House Hightower is currently rebelling. I can use that to my advantage," Harry replied, smirking. He then frowned in thought, "However, I will need some way to be able to take the Citadel without losing all the books and tomes."

"Perhaps this one can be of use?" a voice with a Braavosi accent called out.

Both Harry and Arianne immediately sprang into a defensive stance, irrespective of the latter's lack of clothing, and brought a dirk to their hands.

"This one means you both no harm," a figure wearing a hooded cloak and a mask covering the lower half of their face.

"A Faceless Man?" Harry inquired, " _Valar morghulis_. Has someone requested that I be given the first gift?"

" _Valar dohaeris_ ," the Faceless man replied, "No. It would be a crime of the highest order for a Faceless Man to kill _He-Who-Wears-One-Face-Amongst-Many_."

' _And here I thought I would be done with hyphenated titles_ ,' Harry inwardly groused. Out loud, he asked, "And what does this mean?"

"It means that we are at your service," the assassin revealed.

' _What?! When in the name of the Old Gods, did I find myself owning a guild of assassins?!_ ' Harry furiously thought.

' ** _When you became my Master_** ,' the chilling voice of Death whispered, ' ** _The god they worship is the God of Death after all_**.'

' _That is ridiculously convenient_ …'

A melodious laughter was all that answered Harry, as Death receded from his mind. Realising that he was being rude, Harry quickly re-entered the discussion.

"You said, you could assist with my dilemma regarding the Citadel. How?" he asked.

"It would be easily done, but requires a lot time," the Faceless Man began to explain, "Maesters and novices would be replaced by agents. When the time comes to take the Citadel, the agents would reveal themselves and sow discord, making it easy to capture, and reducing the threat of damage to the knowledge within."

"That…huh. Isn't that cheating?" Harry had to ask.

"Cheating?" Arianne echoed, utterly perplexed.

"Aye. I mean…It seems…Too easy," Harry explained.

"Too easy!?" Arianne exclaimed. She sighed, and palmed her face. Mumbling about the stupidity of men under her breath, she slapped Harry upside his head.

"Ow! Ari, what was that?" Harry complained.

"That was me punishing you for your stupidity," Arianne stated.

"Stupidity!" Harry retorted, indignant.

"Of course! Beloved, not all wars are won on the battlefield," the sultry princess said, "Wet-working is a key element in victory, alongside spies."

"Well excuse me for wanting to do things cleanly," Harry grumbled.

"Beloved, don't be naïve," a chilling look was on Arianne's face as she said this, "Wars are not clean. They never have been, and never will be. Lost that childish notion."

"I know that! I just don't want to take a life, where I can help it," Harry huffed.

"That is the very nature of wet-work, Beloved," Arianne gently said, "Kill one man, and save a thousand."

"And kill one hundred men, to save ten thousand?" Harry argued, "That is a very fine line to walk, Arianne!"

"Which is why I am here to ensure you don't go too far," Arianne replied, with a winning smile.

Harry blinked in surprise. Then, he realised that he was cleverly played by his betrothed.

"Fine. But the choice of targets will be mine, and mine alone," Harry firmly stated, "And no one, but you and I, can know of this arrangement."

"Of course, Beloved," Arianne acceded, with a nod.

"Good," Harry then turned to the Faceless Man, who had been watching the proceedings in silence, "I wish for Randyll Tarly to be given the Gift of Mercy."

"It will be done," the assassin bowed. Harry barely blinked before the cloaked figure disappeared. Looking to Arianne, Harry saw that she was just as nonplussed.

"Why Randyll Tarly?" Arianne eventually asked.

"Because of his talent for warfare. He is an enemy I cannot afford to have alive," Harry explained, "Without him, the Reach is effectively without a proper command structure on land."

"Ingenious," Arianne commented, before smirking coyly, "Now, Beloved. I have need of you."

* * *

Without waiting for an answer she pounced on Harry and pushed him towards their bed chamber, all the while engaging in a passionate embrace.

Three days later, and the joint wedding was ready. It was a hastily done preparation, what with everyone expecting the lull in the conflict to be temporary. As worship of the Old Gods was informal at best, there wasn't a priest of any kind to officially marry the couples. With Eddard giving away his sons, and Lord Umber away at Harrenhal, it fell to Lord Rikard Karstark to 'officiate' the wedding, as the next most important bannerman of the North. Harry had been asked by Myrcella to give her away, something which he had happily agreed to, and was honoured by. Roslin Frey also requested that her brother, Ser Perwyn, be the one to give her away, as the pair were full siblings. Harry readily granted the request.

In the midday sun, the crowd were gathered in the vicinity of the Weirwood that was the heart tree in Riverrun. Eddard stood at the front of the crowd, his two sons standing before him. Both wore fine clothes, and for Jon, the finest he ever wore in his life. It had heartened the Lord of Winterfell, when he saw Jon be knighted by Robert. Before Brandon's murder and the rebellion, Eddard had plans. Oh so many plans. Yet, it all came crashing down, his eldest was base born and it fell to Eddard's nephew to ensure Jon had a secure future.

While the wedding was rather impromptu, it was going well enough, that none could claim that it wasn't a well-deserved event. Later on, Harry had learnt that after the match was made, Roslin herself had sewed her own dress to mark the occasion. Myrcella, however, did not have that luxury, but was fortunately gifted a dress, that had belonged to Lyanna Stark. It was still left at Winterfell, if only for the sentimental value, but when Eddard learnt that the soon-to-wife of his son lacked a suitable dress, he had one brought for her.

The idle conversation in the clearing of the heart tree came to halt. First, his nephew came escorting his sister by bond, Myrcella. Behind the pair, followed Ser Perwyn with his own sister. The dress Myrcella wore, was sky blue in colour, matching the shade of her eyes. A silver chain necklace, with a sapphire pendant rested on her sternum, while a tiara wrought of Valyrian steel sat on her head. Her raven-black hair flowed in soft curls, far as past her neck, and down her back. Her maiden cloak of fine velvet, with the symbol of House Baratheon sewn into it.

The tiara that Myrcella wore was one of her most treasured possessions; the only gift she had received from her father. According to Robert, it was a tiara gifted to Orys Baratheon from Aegon the Conqueror, upon the former's marriage to Argella Durrandon. It was then passed down from one Lady of Storm's End to the next, and was fortunately left at Storm's End when Cassana Estermont drowned at sea. Then, it was kept by her surviving sons, until Robert gave to Myrcella on her tenth nameday.

Roslin wore her hair in a braid that went to the small of her back, a circlet of silver was wrapped around her forehead. She wore a dress of white. The bodice of the dress was sewn with pearls, and diamonds, while the fabric of the gown had silver and gold threads. Eddard wasn't quite sure how much the dress cost to make, but suspected the money came from charging those who requested to cross the Twins. The daughter of Walder Frey wore a silver maiden cloak that bore the mark of House Frey in azure.

A short walk later, and the woman were escorted to stand a little way from Eddard's two sons.

"Who comes? Who comes before the Old Gods?" the gruff voice of Lord Karstark asked.

"Myrcella, of the House Baratheon, daughter to Robert and Cersei comes here to be wed. A trueborn grown and flowered. A virgin pure," Eddard's nephew clearly answered, unwaveringly, "She comes with the blessings of the Old Gods."

"Roslin, of the House Frey, daughter to Walder and Bethany comes here to be wed. A trueborn grown and flowered. A virgin pure," Ser Perwyn replied, also as unwavering as his liege lord, "She comes with the blessings of the Old Gods."

That statement caused a few whispers to spread through the crowd. While no one begrudged the fact that the North kept to the Old Gods, the knowledge that both brides accepting blessings from gods that they mostly likely did not worship surprised them.

"Then come forth and be claimed," Karstark went on, "Who comes for them?"

This was Eddard's cue.

"Robb, of the House Stark, son to Eddard and Catelyn accepts Roslin Frey," he declared, "He stands with the blessings of the Old Gods.

"Jon, of the House Whitehart, son to Eddard and Ashara accepts Myrcella Baratheon," Eddard then added, "He stands with the blessings of the Old Gods."

Karstark intoned, "Who gives Myrcella Baratheon?"

"I, Haraldr, of the House Targaryen, son to Rhaegar and Lyanna," Harry replied, "Myrcella, do you accept this man?"

"I do," Myrcella firmly replied, eliciting a tiny smile from Jon.

"Your oath is accepted. Stand together," Karstark softly commanded, as Myrcella moved to stand beside Jon, "Who gives Roslin Frey?"

"I, Perwyn of the House Frey, son to Walder and Bethany," the Knight of the Wolfsguard answered, "Roslin, do you accept this man?"

"I do," the girl softly said, a shy smile adorning her lips.

"Your oath is accepted. Kneel and before the Old Gods."

The four knelt as one, and bowed their heads. Eddard offered his own small prayer for his sons. It was then that a gust of wind blew through the Godswood, as though the Old Gods were answering the call. Casting a wary glace, Eddard saw that he was not the only one to be surprised. In fact, his nephew seemed to be the most surprised of them all. Then again, his nephew was a Targaryen with a dragon for a partner. If anyone was sensitive to the old magicks of the First Men and the Children of the Forest, it would Harry.

Taking the possible sign from divinity in stride, Karstark continued, "Robb of the House Stark, Jon of the House Whitehart, unfasten the maiden cloaks, and bring these women under the protection of your House."

Robb dutifully did so, with barely any nerves. Deftly unclasping the cloak around Roslin, he turned to Theon who held the cloak of House Stark. Exchanging them, Robb swiftly covered Roslin and fastened the clasp. Jon however, looked as though he was having a hard time of keeping himself from blanching. Unfastening the cloak of House Baratheon, Jon was handed the cloak of his new House from his squire, Alesander Frey. With shaking fingers, Jon wrapped Myrcella in a cloak of midnight black, with a white direwolf and shooting star as the heraldry.

"With the Old Gods as witnesses, I proclaim you, husband and wife," Karstark finished, "May the Old Gods be with you."

With that, the men pull their respective women into a kiss that started out chaste, but became deeper, signifying that each couple had become man and wife. A polite applause rang through the grove, congratulating the newly wed couples.

Robb and Roslin led the way back to Riverrun to the feast that had been prepared, with Jon and Myrcella closely behind. Harry extended an arm to Princess Arianne, who accepted the proffered limb with a tinkling laugh.

Eventually, the only soul left in the grove was Eddard, who looked to the heart tree in askance. That gust of wind bothered him more than he originally let on. He never concerned himself much with the supernatural, but willingly admitted that the stories would have had to have a sliver of truth. The Wall was not built to protect the Seven Kingdoms from the Free Folk.

Deciding that it was not the time for wild speculation, Eddard walked back towards Riverrun at a slow pace. While the wedding did some to raise the spirits and morale of those fighting for his nephew, the possibility of this war stretching was still on the back of everyone's mind. While Greyjoy's Rebellion took a month or so, the War to Overthrow Aerys II took two years. Two years of fighting that left thousands dead, and Eddard wasn't sure he could stomach another war on such a scale. Even the Battle at the Green Fork was difficult for him to handle.

A short walk later, and Eddard entered the dining hall, where the feast had already begun. Evidently, he wasn't missed. He then spotted an empty seat beside his lady wife, and subtly moved to her. Seeing the stony look on her face, Eddard frowned.

"What bothers you, my wife?" he asked.

Without turning to face him, Catelyn answered, "All of them are feasting and drinking, and yet my daughter remains a prisoner of the Lannisters."

Eddard winced at the thought of Sansa. Not a day went by that he blamed himself for effectively abandoning her to the lions. While Catelyn never physically said anything with regards to Eddard's decision, there was a certain divide between the pair that was not present prior to Eddard leaving south.

"Cat. We have the Kingslayer as a prisoner," he said, trying to allay her fears, "As long as we have him, the Lannisters will not harm Sansa."

"Then why haven't we exchanged prisoners!" Catelyn furiously whispered.

Eddard frowned, "It wouldn't be an equal trade. The Lords wouldn't stand for it."

"You are the Prince's Uncle! He will listen to you!" Catelyn fumed.

His frowned deepened. Seeing that the nearby folk were observing the exchange, Eddard escorted his wife from the hall, and to their assigned quarters. The Lady of Winterfell went without protest, clearly realising the folly of having the discussion in a public setting. Once they got there, Eddard turned to face Catelyn.

"This isn't just about Sansa, is it?" he asked, his face shrewd.

"Prince Haraldr insults our family," Catelyn spat.

It was only years of experience that allowed Eddard to school his features, save for his eyes widening a fraction. Inwardly, Eddard was astounded. Harry was close to his cousins, to the point he considered them more like siblings. It was clear that he considered Eddard more of a father-figure than Robert, the truth of Harry's parentage notwithstanding.

"Elaborate," it wasn't a request.

"…Knighting Jon Snow is one thing," she began, "Effectively naming him as the Prince's Right-Hand is another thing entirely! He places my brother in a lower order of priority! Edmure is the Heir to a Lord Paramount!

"Then there is the weddings!" she continued, as Eddard remained silent, "Robb should have married Princess Myrcella. Instead, he is wedded to a Frey. A Frey! She is beneath him!"

"Marrying Robb to the Princess would have removed any chance of legitimately claiming Storm's End," Eddard neutrally stated.

"It's not as if the Lannisters are to remain in control of the Westerlands," Catelyn dismissed.

"Prince Haraldr is fond of the Princess. It would stand to reason that he would see to it that she is suitably matched and her future secure."

"And Robb is not a suitable match?" Catelyn then demanded.

"I did not say that," Eddard calmly replied. His face then turned hard, "However, this…animosity you have for Jon must stop."

"Wha-" Eddard interrupted his wife, and carried on.

"In an ideal world. Robb would be Brandon's son, and still the heir to Winterfell. I would be married to Ashara, be Jon's father, and he my own heir to whatever holdfast I might have had," he continued, "However, we are not in an ideal world."

Catelyn was stunned into silence, so he went on.

"Jon did not ask to be a bastard, nor my eldest son. The fact that I have to rely on my nephew to give Jon a future, when I should be me, wounds my pride," Eddard admitted, "Robb is my heir. That will not change. As for places of honour, Starks do not do well in politics and court intrigue. Jon's experiences as baseborn have left him with a different perspective, and Harry clearly suited for Kingship. However, despite his outward appearance, Robb takes after me more than you would think. He would not do well in the South.

"I do not ask you to love Jon. I do not even ask you to like him. But, he has made a future for himself, independent of House Stark. Respect that," he finished.

"I'm sorry, my love," Catelyn whispered.

"You are grieving. I understand," Eddard gently stated, "Come, it is late, and tomorrow the Invasion of the West begins."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well, I'm back. I'm sorry it's taken over a month to update, but things just got busy in real life. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter and review! As always, I take constructive criticism for what it is, and if you have questions or suggestions, then don't hesitate to PM me.

Also, there is a new scene with Daenerys in Chapter 3, following the scene in Winterfell's crypt. It hasn't changed much from canon, but it introduces them earlier than I really planned. Mostly, because I thought it was silly if Dany just crops up out of nowhere. In the future, I will likely add more scenes of what's she's up to, particularly in Qarth and Astapor.

* * *

 **Next update** : My writing schedule is messed up at the moment, so I cannot give a fixed date for a future update. It probably will not be longer than a month, however.


	12. Invasion of the West

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Invasion of the West ~**

* * *

Gazing at stronghold on the cliffs of Pyke, Theon's mind was heavy with thought. While he relished the challenge of effectively commanding his own navy, he was stumped as to how to sell this to the Lords who held to the Old Way. On one hand, Theon was effectively turning back on his people by condemning the Old War. On the other hand, he was well aware that such action was abhorrent to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

"What troubles you, Greyjoy?" the voice of Torrhen Karstark asked him.

While Prince Haraldr trusted Theon to marshal the Lords of the Iron Islands, he knew that sending Theon on his own was folly, and sent Karstark, Robett Glover and a dozen men or so.

"Just thinking on how I will get the lords to agree to Prince Haraldr's proposal," Theon softly admitted, "The Prince is effectively destroying the culture of the Ironborn."

"A culture that has no place in a civilised world, Greyjoy," Torrhen frowned.

"I know that!" Theon bit back, before sighing, "By the Old Gods, I know."

"I did not know you prayed to the Old Gods, Theon," Robett commented, as he walked over.

Theon hesitated. It was a private matter, but the two men would be beside him for the foreseeable future. Realising that he had nothing to lose by trying to foster some trust, he replied.

"I used to have nightmares of when my…When the Crow's Eye murdered my father and…raped my mother," Theon explained, "Lord Stark suggested that praying before the heart tree in Winterfell might help, and so I did. A few nights later, and the nightmares stopped. I've sworn by them since."

"Har! Another convert for the true gods of Westeros," Robett grinned.

"True gods?" the son of Rickard Karstark arched an eyebrow.

"Of course. I have nothing against the Seven, but they're a foreign religion," Robett said.

Torrhen hummed noncommittedly as the ship they were on approached the harbour.

Theon turned to look at the assembled ships. He spotted a Tyroshi merchant vessel amongst the multitude of fishing cogs. What surprised him however, was the array of longships present. Fifty or sixty at least, Theon spotted the heraldry of House Goodbrother, House Drumm, House Harlaw and House Blacktyde. Other than his own house, the four he spotted were the most influential of the Iron Islands. While he knew he could count on the support of his Uncle Rodrik, and possibly House Blacktyde, the other two houses he wasn't so sure about. House Drumm particularly swore by the Old Ways.

The vessel the group chartered eventually made dock at Lordsport, which had been rebuilt following its sack during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Paying the captain, Theon led the band of men to a nearby stable master and requested horses. When Theon made to pay, the stout man refused.

"Lord Harlaw's been expecting you, milord," he explained, "He paid ahead."

Theon blinked, bemused.

"Alright then. You have my thanks," Theon replied.

The group mounted their horses and rode in the direction of Castle Pyke. At the speed they were riding it, and the time of day it was, it would be close to nightfall when the group would arrive at Theon's ancestral home.

Part of the way there, Theon and his companions were accosted by a man with shoulder length long hair, and a long beard then fell to his chest. Squinting slightly, Theon failed to recognise the man, but a brief flash of memory pertaining to a letter Asha had send him came to the forefront of his mind.

"Uncle Aeron?" Theon asked, uncertainly.

"Nephew," the man nodded, "Rodrick bid me to collect you."

"Of course," Theon said, "Lead on."

Aeron Greyjoy was the youngest of Quellon Greyjoy's sons. He was thought lost at sea following the Battle off Fair Isle. A year or so later, however, he had returned, though a much changed man. Claiming that divine intervention had saved his life, Aeron had taken to a hermit lifestyle. According to the letter Asha had sent Theon, his uncle had taken to praying to the Old Gods, rather than the Drowned God. When asked, Aeron had begun to ramble about how the kraken of the Drowned God tried to kill him for his failure and how he was saved by an unseen force. He further claimed that when he was washed ashore, he was nurtured back to health by a Child of the Forest. Most scoffed at Aeron's claim, but Theon couldn't help but wonder if the intervention was the same as the one that put an end to his nightmares.

Theon snapped out of his thoughts when he realised that they had ridden long enough that they had reached Pyke. The guardsmen either side of the gate let them through without so much of a challenge, something Theon attributed to the presence of his uncle.

Eventually the party reached the Great Keep. Inside was a congregation of Lords, with Lord Regent Rodrick Harlaw at the front. Asha stood beside her uncle. It had been five years since Theon had seen Asha, and Theon would later admit that he almost didn't recognise her.

As it was, Theon's uncle recognised him, and beckoned Theon to come closer as he called for silence amongst the Lords.

"Nephew," Harlaw greeted.

"Uncle Rodrick," Theon nodded, "You look well."

"As well as one can be, Theon," Harlaw said, "I take it that you have news for us?"

"Aye, I do," Theon began, before taking a deep breath to steel himself, "Prince Haraldr has challenged me to take Casterly Rock. If I do so, I will be installed as its Lord and Warden of the West.

"He challenged me to take command of the Iron Fleet, torch Lannisport, and put any Lannister we find to the sword," he continued, "He also says that any Lord who successfully takes a holdfast can keep it for his own.

"All he asks, is that we swear fealty to him, and forsake the Old Ways," Theon finished.

Theon's declaration was met with utter silence. While both of his surviving uncles wore contemplative looks on their faces, and Asha wore one of bemusement, the remaining Lords varied from confusion to rage. Lord Dunstan Drumm in particular was of the latter, and spoke up in opposition.

"Have you lost your wits boy?!" he roared, "You would ask the Ironborn to kneel before a green lander!"

"I would ask the people of the Iron Islands to live!" Theon roared back. Inwardly he was wondering where the strength behind his words came from, but carried on nevertheless, "The Old Ways will take us to our deaths! The Islands barely enough food to sustain us. Before long, the Ironborn will tear at each other, fighting over what little food is left."

"Then we'll take what is ours from the green landers!" another lord shouted.

"Take what is ours? What, precisely is ours to take?" Theon asked, "Do you not remember what happened when the Crow's Eye thought the same as you do now? Our people were very nearly destroyed! The Old Ways have no place in the present, nor at any time in the future!"

"I agree with Lord Greyjoy," the baritone voice of Baelor Blacktyde spoke up.

"Of course you would! You worship the green lander gods," Drumm spat.

Blacktyde narrowed his eyes in anger, "My choice of faith has nothing to do with the matter at hand."

"Lord Blacktyde is right. Prince Haraldr cares little for the gods you choose to worship, only that you do not raid the cost of the Seven Kingdoms," Theon said, "I for one, worship the Old Gods, but I do not command you to do the same."

Drumm, having slowly descended into madness, bellowed in anger, and drew his sword. Hearing that the Scion of House Greyjoy had practically abandoned the Old Ways was the last straw. He charged at Theon, who easily dodged the wild swing, and swiftly unsheathed his own sword, and disarmed crazed Ironborn.

"I knew he zealously followed the Old Ways, but I didn't take him for a traitor," Theon sneered, knocking the Lord into unconsciousness. He then picked up the sword of House Drumm, _Red Rain_ , "As punishment for attempting to murder his liege lord, I, Theon of House Greyjoy, consign Dunstan Drumm to the Wall. I also take the ancestral sword of House Drumm for my own."

He turned to the two sons of the former Lord Drumm, "Do either of you protest?"

Denys and Donnel Drumm glanced at each other for a scant few seconds. Realising that Theon could have further punished their house, they quickly agreed to the punishment, and surrendered the Valyrian Steel sword.

"Send a raven to his Highness, and let him know we are at his command. Marshall your longboats and ready your troops," Theon commanded, "We sail for Lannisport."

As the men in the Great Keep hastened to obey, Asha approached her only surviving brother, with a proud smirk on her face.

"You've grown well, Theon," she commented.

"It was bounded to happen at some point, sister," Theon replied, "I hope I haven't been presumptuous, but Ser Edmure Tully asked for your hand in marriage, and I gave permission so long as you were willing. Are you?"

Much to Theon's surprise, Asha uncharacteristically blushed.

"Aye. I would like that," she mumbled, "It wouldn't be too bad a marriage."

"Sounds like you're pretty much in love?" Theon grinned.

"Push off," Asha growled, "Ed was the only one who would play with me, when we were younger. None of the girls liked me all that much."

Theon's grin widened, "I'm happy for you sister. Now come on. We have a war to win."

"You reckon it'll be an easy victory?" Asha asked.

Theon snorted, "Is that supposed to be a jape? Prince Haraldr sent me to do the hard work, so that he has it easy. Rotten bastard."

* * *

"This might be a lot harder than I initially thought," Harry lamented, as he leaned over a table and looked at a map of the Westerlands.

When attacking from the Riverlands, the only easy route into the Westerlands was through a mountain pass beyond the Golden Tooth. While the castle itself was small, the terrain meant that with a strong enough garrison the Tooth was almost insurmountable. The problem that Harry had, was that it was generally accepted that a successful invasion of the Westerlands from the east could only come to fruition if the Golden Tooth was taken.

Harry had sixty thousand men at his command, but a siege would take far too long and according to his spies, Ser Stafford Lannister was raising fresh levies at the village of Oxcross. This second army would easily be able to reinforce the Golden Tooth, before it could be taken. This would mean that Harry's army would suffer a greater number of casualties, which to Harry was unacceptable.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't come up with any alternative plans. The other two roads into the Westerlands were by the Gold Road or the Ocean Road. The former was accessible, but would take several days to get close to the road, and would require travelling over farmland, without access to minor roads, otherwise the invading army would march too close to King's Landing. The latter was completely inaccessible, as it would require marching into the Reach to get anywhere close to the road. The only other option he had was to traverse the mountainous terrain north of the Tumblestone, and that would slow the progress of his army by days if not weeks, especially considering there was no known path the men could take to make the journey easier.

"Still struggling on a course of action?" the voice of Jon asked from the entrance to Harry's tent.

"Aye," Harry replied, without looking up, "I can't find any possible way of passing the Golden Tooth, without incurring severe losses. And you know full well that I abhor send my troops to their deaths, if there's another way."

Jon gazed at the map and hummed in contemplation, before turning to Harry.

"I might have a solution," he revealed.

"What?!"

"You remember when I told you about how I was seeing things through Ghosts eyes, when I was dreaming," Jon said.

"Aye…wait, do you mean you, as Ghost, found a path around the Golden Tooth?" Harry asked, guessing what Jon was leading to.

Jon blinked in surprise at the accuracy of the guess, but answered, "Aye. It's an untouched mountain path, on the north side of the valley. It leads to just outside of Oxcross, where I saw camps, as Ghost.

"I didn't get that good a feel for the path, but from what I can remember, it's easily traversable for horses," Jon went on, "You could easily move a few thousand or more in a short space of time. Not at gallop speed though. It's not quite stable enough."

"Jon! This is fantastic!" Harry exclaimed, "Come on. You and I, with Robb and my Wolfsguard with scout ahead, properly. If we're going to march the troops, we need to see just what the terrain is like."

"Of course. I can find Robb, Ser Eyron and Wolfsguard," Jon offered.

"Please do so. I will inform Uncle Eddard to take command, while we go on ahead," Harry told him.

Jon bowed, and exited the tent. Harry donned a set of black leather armour, and took _Dark Sister_ with him, leaving behind _Blackfyr_ e. The latter was far too large to be taken on a scouting trip, hence why Harry took the sword of Visenya Targaryen instead.

An hour or so later, and the band of men that was to scout the supposedly untouched path was assembled. Harry was at the head of the group, with Robb and Jon beside him. Their respective squires, Edric, Olyvar and Alesander stood behind them, as the six knights that made up the Wolfsguard stood before their Prince. Idly, Harry noted that his personal guard each had a knight from six of the Seven Kingdoms. All he needed was a knight from the Reach and he'd have a perfectly represented guard. The passing thought planted the seed for an idea that Harry would later revisit.

"Is this spontaneity new, or have I simply not noticed?" Robb asked, in jest.

"I've always been of a capricious sort, but I generally rein it in," Harry grinned, "That said, there's a time to step back and discuss things, and there's a time for immediate action. This current time is of the latter."

"I get that, but the lords won't be mighty pleased that you're going off on your own, cousin," Robb commented.

"Unhappy lords, the wonders will never cease," Jon deadpanned.

Robb rolled his eyes, "You're hilarious, brother. In all seriousness, however. You are in the lynchpin for this army, cousin. If you die, the rest of us have no cause to fight for."

"I'll be sure to tell Sansa that when we rescue her," Harry snarked.

Harry then ignored Robb's blustering and turned to face his knights.

"Thanks to Jon and Ghost, we may have possible found an alternative route to the army raised by Stafford Lannister. We are going to have a proper look to see if it's a viable path to march on," Harry informed them

"Ah, my Prince. If Ser Jon has already scouted ahead, then why are we going?" Ser Robar asked.

"Do you want to trust the memory of Jon, when he says he saw the path through Ghost's eyes?" Harry asked back.

"Um…"

"He's a skinchanger, Ser Robar," Harry clarified, eliciting a soft 'oh' from the Vale knight.

It was a credit to their intelligence that the Wolfsguard barely even scoffed at the thought of Jon being a skinchanger, though Robb had to raise an eyebrow in intrigue. Harry put it down to having seen the dragon, and having an open mind to the supernatural as a result.

"If all we're going to do is just stand here, can I go back to my tent?" Jon blithely asked.

The speed at which Harry snapped his head around towards Jon caused some to worry that the Prince might have broken his neck.

"What is with you and this sudden outbreak of humour from you?" Harry demanded, "I swear you used to be far more quiet that this."

"Well, it's either this, or drinking copious amounts of wine," Jon explained, "And I'd rather not become a raging drunk, just to deal with the insanity that follows you around. I hear it's bad for the liver."

Harry had to pause as he worked that statement through his mind. Once he did, he glared at Jon.

"Oi!"

Jon rolled his eyes, and strode off, Ghost nipping at his heels.

"I swear, ever since he swore an oath of loyalty to me, his sarcasm has become exceedingly irritating," Harry mumbled, as he chased after his cousin.

Robb watched them go, bemused.

"Are they always like that?" he asked the Wolfsguard.

Ser Balon chuckled, "It's starting to become something of a recurrent theme, yes."

Robb shook his head, following after his brother and cousin before they got too far.

* * *

Theon was standing at the bow of the _Kraken's Might_ , the new constructed flagship of the Iron Fleet, and a gift from his uncle Rodrick. It had been several days since his proclamation to the Ironborn, and ships and men from all over the Iron Islands came. There were those who did not agree to the new direction that the Ironborn were taking, but they were easily routed out and either executed or sent to the Wall. Soon enough, Theon had close to a further one hundred ships supplementing the one hundred that made up the Iron Fleet.

Gazing to the port, Theon surveyed his fleet. Quite frankly, he knew that the Ironborn would easily take Lannisport. The Lannisters never fully rebuilt their fleet, following the Crow's Eye's attack. However, the main problem that Theon foresaw was whether or not he could successfully take Casterly Rock. It was a veritable fortress that had never been taken by an enemy force, in its entire history. The Ironborn were raiders, not soldiers, which further decreased the chance of a successful siege. The only saving grace was that the area was bereft of any possible levies, what with most, if not all, with the new host, or at King's Landing.

Seeing that the other ships were done with their preparations, Theon turned back towards the rear of the ship.

"Raise the anchor, and unfurl the sails. Signal the fleet's departure," Theon yelled to the helmsman.

As sailors scurried to do as ordered, Theon heard heavy footsteps approach. He turned his head to face his visitor.

"Dagmer? Dagmer Cleftjaw?" Theon asked, with a startled laugh, "I barely recognise ya."

Dagmer Cleftjaw was an old comrade of the late Balon Greyjoy. In his youth, he was considered the most dangerous warrior of the Iron Islands, and once spent a summer raiding in the Stepstones. These days, the grizzled old man was the master-at-arms at Pyke. Dagmer had snow white hair, and a hideous scar then went over his mouth, just under the left nostril.

"You alright there boy?"

"Aye, I'm alright. Just pre-battle jitters, is all," Theon dismissed.

Dagmer narrowed his eyes.

"Well, shape up," he grunted, "Can't have the future Lord of Casterly Rock not being up to it."

"You're the last person I'd expect to be sold on the new direction the Ironborn are going in," Theon said, blinking in surprise.

"Aye. If your father were still alive, I'd be against it," Dagmer said, "That said, it's you who leads us, and I'm not that much of an idiot that I can't see which direction the wind's blowin'. It'd be madness to sail against such winds."

Theon snorted at the nautical analogy, but inwardly was pleased that his old sword instructor was on his side.

"Well, whatever your reason, I'm glad your fight beside me," Theon said, grinning.

Dagmer rolled his eyes, "Our heading takes us south-west. With it being close to nightfall when we reach Lannisport, they won't see us coming."

"Aye. Just like ten years ago. We'll torch the ships, and take Lannisport," Theon ordered, "Once the city is secured we'll make for Casterly Rock, and hold it under siege."

"Audacious of ya," Dagmer snorted.

"Prince Haraldr challenged me. I'd be less than a man, if I don't meet it head on," Theon stated.

Dagmer barked in laughter.

"Seems like the time you spent with the green landers hasn't dulled your sense of pride, boy," he grinned.

"Seems like it," Theon agreed, with his own smirk.

"Keep sharp, boy. At the speed we're goin' at, I'd expect us to be there in two hours," Dagmer said as he headed off.

True to prediction, a little over two hours later, and the Iron Fleet were arrayed just beyond the sight of anyone at Lannisport. The Lannister fleet was berthed in the harbour, completely unaware of the attack that was to come. This was undoubtedly due to the Lannisters being distracted by the army in the border between the Westerlands and the Riverlands.

"I wonder if we managed time it so that we attack at the same time Prince Haraldr does," Theon commented.

Baelor Blacktyde, who had sailed over to receive last minute instructions, snorted.

"Does it matter?" he asked, "We've timed it close enough that they'll be panicking."

"I s'pose so," Theon conceded. He then spotted the men he had sent to sabotage the ships, by planting pots of oil on the Lannister ships, "Head back to your ship, Baelor, we're about to start."

The head of House Blacktyde nodded and left in a brisk walk.

As his ships began to move in concert, Theon started to feel uncertain. This would be the first major battle he would have overall command of, and he was terrified of failing. Not of dying. No self-respecting Ironborn feared death. What Theon was terrified of, was living with his failure. To be held prisoner and watch as everything he believed in went up in flames, as the very essence of his identity was stripped away from him, bit by bit, until he was nothing more than a mere shell of his former self.

Shaking from his ill thoughts, Theon steeled himself, and drew his war horn. He paused to ensure that every one of his captains were ready, before bringing the horn to his lips. He blew hard, and the minute the Ironborn heard the loud wail, those that had nocked their flame tipped arrows released them onto the Lannister fleet.

Almost immediately, the ships were aflame, some exploding due to the pots of oil igniting. While this was occurring, landing ships immediately headed for the harbour, and once they did so, the raiders aboard immediately disembarked and began attacking. It was fortunate that Theon had raping and the taking of salt wives would not be tolerated by the Dragon in the North, and that any who were caught doing so would be summarily executed for war crimes.

While the smaller, sleeker ships begun their attack runs on the ships, quickly sinking them, the heavier ships, including Theon's own _Kraken's Might_ , began their attack on the costal defences with their ships' scorpions, proving support for the raiders.

It was barely an hour into the battle, and Theon was exhausted. He had emptied his own quiver, in an attempt to torch as many ships as he was able to. Without knowing the outcome of the Prince's own battle, it was imperative that Theon successfully took the port city, and prepared its defences in case of a possible reprisal from the Lannisters.

Soon enough, Theon's ship reach the harbour, and he promptly disembarked, and drew his newly acquired _Red Rain_. Almost immediately, a member of Lannisport's City Watch charged at Theon, who defended easily, and cut the man in half, effortlessly slicing through the armour. Theon then marvelled at the sharpness of Valyrian Steel, before snapping to attention.

All around him, the Ironborn wreaked havoc, but still followed the orders Theon gave them. Seeing no more resistance, it soon became apparent that the day was theirs.

"The city is ours," Baelor said, as he approached, "The women and children have been corralled into a part of the city, and held under guard. The men are being kept prisoner separately."

"Good," Theon commented, "I doubt the City Watch had any notable members, so don't bother sortin' em out. Do we have word from his Highness?"

"Aye, they won the battle," Baelor replied," Easily too, according to the runner."

"Do we have further orders?" Theon asked.

"Secure the city, and move on to Casterly Rock. We're not expected to take it, as Prince Haraldr will come south to support us."

"Right. Well, go see to it then, Lord Blacktyde," Theon ordered, "I'm going to find some place to sleep."

"As you command, my Lord," the lord bowed, and left, while Theon strode down the streets of Lannisport.

Eventually, he came upon a relatively well-off estate that was still in one piece. Entering the building, Theon found himself in an extravagantly furnished entrance hall. He then made for the kitchens, hoping to find something to eat. Once he did so, he made his way back to the entrance hall, only to find himself with a visitor.

"Lord Greyjoy," the blonde maiden curtsied.

"Ah, you have me at a disadvantage, my lady," Theon roguishly grinned.

The maiden blushed, before answered, "My name is Ceranna Lannister, my Lord. I was hoping to meet with you."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"I'm sure you know why," Ceranna said, cocking an eyebrow.

Theon blinked, before grinning.

"Well now, it seems that lions, or in this case lionesses, can be tamed," Theon smirked. He then strode forward and pulled the maiden into an embrace, eliciting a soft gasp from from the young woman, "Are you sure about this?"

The answer Theon received was a sultry smile, which forced any thoughts of the battle at Oxcross out of his mind.

' _I'm sure Prince Haraldr will be fine_ ,' he thought, as he pulled Ceranna towards the direction of a bedroom.

* * *

Calling it a battle would be a massive misnomer. Calling it a massacre, however, would be far a more appropriate description.

Stafford Lannister was of the belief that the Golden Tooth was impregnable, and the castle further down the valley would bleed the Northern troops enough, that his fresh levies would easily mop up the survivors. He didn't however, account for the fact that the mountain pass that Harry and his cousins found was a lot more stable that they originally thought, thus allowing for a swift march to take the Lannister army in the rear.

A severe tactical blunder on Ser Stafford's part, saw the lack of sentries being placed around his camp. This error allowed Fenrir, Ghost and Grey Wind to stalk closely to the encampment at night, and drive the horses into frenzy. This, in turn gave the eight thousand cavalry Harry brought through the pass, to charge the camps, successfully routing the levies. The only significant loss that Harry's forces sustained was the death of Ser Stevron Frey, who died of injuries initially thought to be minor.

Of the Lannisters, Ser Stafford himself was killed by Lord Karstark, when the former was running from the battle. Ser Rupert Brax was also killed, but fortunately for Harry, a few lords, and their heirs were captured.

The aftermath was a rather unpleasant sight, however. While the casualties to Harry's forces were minimal, thousands of Lannister levies, most of whom were untrained peasants, were dead or severely wounded. It was heart breaking for Harry. He was well aware that war was messy business, but to see so many people who were unrelated to the reason behind the conflict die weighed heavily on his mind.

"Six thousand dead and injured, and another four thousand captured," the voice of one Roose Bolton summed, "About two dozen of our own are dead or injured. Overall, a massive victory, your Highness."

When his Uncle came to Riverrun, Lord Bolton came with him, as it was decided that leaving the Greatjon and Robin Flint in command of Harrenhal was enough.

"Aye," Harry replied, "If only I knew what to do with the prisoners."

"We do not have the room the hold them permanently nor food to feed them. Aside from those who hail from the noble houses, there is no reason to keep them alive," Bolton said.

"We will not kill prisoners of war, Lord Bolton," Harry warned.

"Of course not, your Highness," Bolton replied, "However, might I suggest interrogating the senior knights and lords?"

Harry paused at Lord Bolton's suggestion, and did his best to ignore the slight inflection of hope in the words.

"Interrogate…or _torture_?" he softly inquired.

"A naked man has few secret, your Highness. A flayed man has none," Bolton stated firmly.

"I was led to believe that House Bolton was forbidden from flaying," Harry said, quietly.

"You are correct, your Highness. However, you could overturn the ban," Bolton suggested.

"To what end? There will come a point when a tortured prisoner will say anything that might get the pain to stop," Harry said, "I wouldn't able to trust any information acquired by such means."

Bolton's face was expressionless as Harry spoke, prompting the prince to continue, "Have arrangements made for the hedge knights and sellswords be sent to the Wall. Find out which of the prisoners are those forcefully conscripted from the smallfolk and see to it that they are returned to their homes."

"You would release them?" Bolton asked.

"If they have a trade, I would need them, once we win. I cannot have a Kingdom idle, Lord Bolton, not with winter on its way," Harry explained.

Bolton nodded and left to do as ordered. Watching him go, Harry heard commotion coming from a little way over, where an injured Lannister foot soldier was being tended to by two healers.

"No don't. Don't, please!" the boy begged.

One of the healers removed the soldiers boot, and saw a badly infected foot.

"The rot's set in," she said, as she prepared tourniquet.

Seeing what the healer intended, the boy resumed his begging in earnest.

"No don't! Please don't! It will get better!" he pleaded, "It doesn't even hurt!"

"It will spread. If I do not remove the leg, you will die," the healer stated.

"No! You can't!"

Deciding to assist the healer, Harry knelt down and forced the injured soldier onto his back.

"Sir please. Sir, I can't lose my leg-"

"You'll die, if she doesn't," Harry said, grimly, as the healer tied up the tourniquet.

"I don't want to be a cripple, please!"

Harry grabbed a nearby cloth and pushed into the boy's mouth.

"You don't want to watch, I can assure you. Bite down on this."

"NO! You can't!"

Harry forcefully pushed the boy down, and stuffed the cloth into his mouth ad held tightly.

"I'm so sorry, but it's this or your tongue," Harry said.

Behind him, he could hear the saw cutting away the boy's leg, and Harry forced himself not to look. The boy screamed in pain, but was unable to move, as Harry held him down. Deafening himself to the screams, Harry closed his eyes, waiting for the healer to finish.

Once the leg was cut off, the healer bandaged up the leg, and had a few soldier put him on a wagon. The boy was pulled away, allowing the healer to clean up.

Harry, who was stood a little way off ordering Edric to take the name of the boy, caught the healer's eye. The healer quickly looked away, and knelt down to pack her supplies.

"Might I have your name?" Harry asked, after a moment of silence between them.

"Talisa," the healer replied.

Now that he could pay more attention, Harry heard an accent on her words that Harry couldn't quite place. He also noted the healer's exotic features.

"And your last name?"

"Do you want to know which side my family fights for?" Talisa asked with a slight smile.

"Hardly. It could be unbecoming of me to call a Lady by her given name," Harry replied, "Not when I don't know her personally."

"A Lady?" the healer stood up and looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye. You have the bearing of one," Harry said, "You don't exactly bare the look of a typical Westerosi. And I would know if there were any more Dornish around."

"You'll have to do better than that, if you want my name, your Highness," the healer said, her forehead creasing.

"Have I offended you my Lady?" Harry frowned.

"That boy lost his foot on your orders," Talisa said instead.

"Of that, my Lady, I am well aware," Harry stated, with a sorrowful look on his face, "Thousands dead on my orders, too."

"And yet you persist with this war?" Talisa challenged, "Knowing that you are responsible for the lives lost."

"You'd have us surrender. End all this bloodshed. I more than understand what you leaving unsaid," Harry said, though idly wondering who this woman was, that she'd challenge nobility so readily, "The country would be a peace. At least, for a time."

"For a time?"

"Aye. It would be so very easy for me to just…run away. To just abandon my kin and leave behind my men. Flee to the Free Cities of Essos, become a sellsword and fight in the mercenary companies. Free of obligations and duties," Harry remarked, as he looked to the horizon and the setting sun, "The Lannisters would rule, aye. And no more lives would be lost. It would be the easy thing to do. It wouldn't be right, though."

"I beg your pardon?" Talisa looked confused. Harry snapped back to the healer.

"Dark times lie ahead, for every one of us my Lady, and there will come a moment when we all must choose between doing what is easy, and doing what is right," he said, almost repeating the words Albus Dumbledore spoke following Voldemort's resurrection, "And the right thing to do, for me, is to overthrow the Lannisters, to take back my family's throne, and to prepare the Seven Kingdoms for what's to come."

"And what _is_ coming?" Talisa asked, though the tone of her voice clearly showed her scepticism.

"That, my Lady, is something you wouldn't believe, even if I did tell you," Harry said, smiling enigmatically, "I've kept you from your duties long enough, so I'll take my leave."

Bowing his head and turning away, Harry walked in no particular direction, but paused when the healer called out to him.

"Volantis," Harry turned back to Talisa with a confused expression.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm from Volantis," she clarified, smiling, as the wagon she was sat on rode off.

"She's from Volantis?" Harry murmured, "That is quite a long way from home. Huh."

The appearance of a nondescript soldier brought Harry from his wandering thoughts.

" _Valar morghulis_ ," the solider said, revealing himself as a Faceless Man.

" _Valar dohaeris_ ," Harry said back, "What news?"

"This one bears a letter from Master Cosades, given to him by one of his agents," the Faceless Man said, holding out a scrap of paper.

"Hm. Thank you," Harry said, "Has there been any change in the plan to assassinate Randyl Tarly?"

"It is slow progress, but the gift will be granted soon," the assassin explained.

"Good. Dismissed," the Faceless Man bowed, and left.

Harry unsealed the letter and saw that it was from one Myrielle Lannister, his agent in the Westerlands.

 _My Prince,_

 _I hope this missive finds you in good health and following a successful battle against your enemies. While I am aware that it is my father that commands the forces at Oxcross, I will not shed tears if he has been killed. The man merely saw my sister and me as tools to raise his social and political standing, instead focusing on my brother Daven. Incidentally, please note that my brother has sworn vengeance._

 _However, my relationship with my father is not the reason for my letter. I write to you to inform that Theon Greyjoy has successfully taken Lannisport and is moving to hold Casterly Rock under siege. I am unsure when it happened, but he has taken my older sister, Ceranna, as his paramour, and possible future wife. I believe Ceranna went willingly to Lord Greyjoy._

 _Uncle Damon and his immediate family have surrendered and are willingly complying the Ironborn, as have most of the cadet branches of House Lannister. I believe Emmon and Genna Frey have fled to King's Landing, as I have not seen them. However, I have no information with regards to what is happening in the Rock itself._

 _I think Lord Greyjoy wishes for further instructions. If you have need of it, I will reveal myself to Lord Greyjoy with any reply you have._

 _Your servant,_

 _Myrielle_

Well. Theon definitely came through. With Lannisport taken, the Lannisters were definitely without any support and supplies. Now it was time for Harry to consolidate his forces, and wait on his rival claimants to make their moves. Then he would act appropriately.

' _Your move, Tywin_ ,' he thought, with a victorious smirk.

* * *

Sansa was terrified. She had been summoned to the throne room, by Joffrey. The Hound had come to her quarters and demanded that she ready herself

"The longer you take, the worse it will be," Sandor Clegane growled in warning.

Hastily tying the knots, and buttoning up the gown that she knew Joffrey liked, Sansa left, and walked on the Hound's left side.

"What have I done?" she asked the Kingsguard member.

"It's not what you've done, but your cousin has done," the Hound gruffly informed her.

"My cousin, and my family are traitors," she parroted, "I had no part in whatever they did."

Panic swarmed through her.

' _Please don't let it be the Kingslayer_ ,' she inwardly cried, ' _If Harry harms Jaime Lannister, my life is forfeit_.'

"They've taught you to sing well, Little Bird," the Hound mocked.

Clegane directed Sansa through the halls of the Red Keep, from Maegor's Holdfast to the Great Hall. As she walked by, she passes the Redwyne twins who ignored her presence. Swallowing some rising bile, she side stepped a pathetically mewling cat that was shot by a crossbow bolt, no double the handy work of Joffrey.

Ser Dontos appeared astride his wooden horse. Ever since he came to Joffrey's tournament drunk, and subsequently made into the Court Fool, he was forced sit on the wooden horse, lest he be killed by the boy king.

"Be brave," he whispered, as he walked off.

With Sandor behind her, Sansa entered into the Great Hall, working hard to not let her fear show. As she walked up to the Iron Throne, she saw Joffrey standing beside it, winding an ornate crossbow. Sers Boros and Meryn stood with him.

"Your Grace," she said, as she knelt down, before the King on the Iron Throne.

"Kneeling will not save you," he said, "Get up. You have crimes to answer for."

"Your Grace, whatever my traitorous family has done, I had no part in," Sansa implored, "Plea-"

"Get her up!" Joffrey commanded, forcing Clegane to pull Sansa to her feet, "Ser Lancel, tell her what her cousin has done."

Sansa turned to the recently knighted Lannister, who sneered at her.

"Using some vile sorcery, your cousin and brothers fell upon Ser Stafford Lannister with an army of wargs," he told the crowd, "Not three days ride away from Lannisport, thousands of good men were butchered and later feasted upon.

"Lannisport itself burned from an assault by sea, and now Casterly Rock is under siege," Ser Lancel finished.

Sheer terror constricted around Sansa's throat like icy cold hands. So much so, that she was unable to even let out the weakest of protests.

"Nothing to say?" Joffrey asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"She is in shock, your Grace," the Hound tried.

"Silence, Dog," Joffrey hefted his crossbow, and took aim, continuing, "Of what value are you as a hostage, if your family persists with their treason?"

"You Gra-"

" _NONE_!" Joffrey yelled, causing Sansa to flinch, "My Mother insists on keeping you alive. She says that if I harm you, then my uncle Jaime will be killed in turn.

"However, I am not so sure that my uncle is of any use to me," the boy king continued, "If he got himself captured that easily by the northern savages, then clearly he isn't as good as my mother claims."

Sansa chose to remain silent, unwilling to further anger Joffrey. The courtiers that were present were quietly sniggering at Sansa, enjoying her torment.

"You Starks are unnatural as those monstrous beasts of yours," Joffrey went on, "Perhaps I should put you down like I might a rabid dog?"

"Your Grace, you can't!"

Joffrey went deathly still at Sansa ill thought exclamation.

"What did you say?" he whispered, an ugly look on his face, "Did you just say that I _can't_?"

"You Gra-"

" _I AM THE KING_!" Joffrey snarled, " _THERE IS NOTHING THAT I CANNOT DO_!"

Sansa squeaked in terror, unable to speak further. Faraway, she heard someone shout out to Joffrey, telling him to stop. However, Sansa saw the King take aim, and her ability to breathe escaped her.

 **TWANG**

Suddenly, Sansa felt a sharp pain in her chest. A cry came from somewhere, but Sansa didn't know who it was, for she felt faint and couldn't focus her mind. Seconds later, and darkness fell.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well, here is another update. I don't know about you guys, but I felt as though this chapter wasn't up to par. I don't know why. If any of you have comments, please leave a review or PM me. I usually reply as soon as I see a notification.

All things considered, the plot is moving forward. Next chapter will be about Daenerys and her reaction to the situation in the Seven Kingdoms, so stay tuned.

Also, I have put up a poll regarding a possible name change for Dreadwing. Please give me your opinions by voting!

* * *

 **Next update** : Unfortunately, there's going to be a bit of a delay for the next chapter. I have exams coming up soon. So the chances are that an update will be put off so that I can study. I'm really sorry, and I hope you can understand.


	13. Interlude in the East

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ Interlude in the East ~**

* * *

A lot had happened to in the last year or so, Dany thought, as she led her beleaguered khalasar across the southern most lands of the Dothraki Sea. Even now, most of her people were close to dying from starvation or exposure.

Her short-lived marriage to Khal Drogo was not as horrible as she once thought. Initially, she was lonely, and unaccustomed to the constant travel on horseback. However, she was determined to embrace her new life, and once her fear of the Dothraki horse lord had waned, Dany grew to love the man who would not bed her without her consent. Gradually, her confidence and strength grew, relishing in the freedom that came with the nomadic lifestyle.

The love Dany and Drogo had for each other was soon rewarded with a child upon Dany's fourteenth nameday. Consequently, Drogo took his khalasar to Vaes Dothrak to present Dany to the dosh khaleen. There, Dany took part in a _stallion heart_ ceremony, which led to her then unborn child being prophesised to be the _Stallion Who Mounts the World_. At the ceremony, Dany had declared that her child would be named Rhaego, a Dothraki variation of her brother's name.

However, with the good came the bad. Her older brother had become increasing angry upon seeing how popular she was with the Dothraki, and the lack of any progress towards invading Westeros. In one of Viserys' rages, he had attempted to strike Dany, only for Dany to push back. She was backed up by Jhogo, who snapped his whip around her brother's neck. However, this only made Viserys more and more irrational, and he ended up earning the ire of Drogo, who finally gifted Viserys his 'crown'. It wasn't a pleasant way to die, having a pot of molten gold being poured over his head.

It was soon after the death of her brother, that things took a turn for the worst. Failing in an attempt to convince her husband to invade Westeros, Dany was nearly assassinated by a wineseller. Fortunately for her, and the then unborn Rhaego, the plot was foiled thanks due in part to the suspicion of her guards. However, Drogo was incensed at angrily decided that he would invade Westeros and seize the Iron Throne for their son.

Leaving the city, Drogo reaped across the lands to as far as Lhazar, in order to harvest slaves to exchange for warships. They were moderately successful, but a rival khalasar, led by Khal Ogo, challenged Drogo. Drogo slayed Ogo himself, but took a serious wound in the process. Dany, worried for her husband, persuaded a Lhazareen _maegi_ to dress the wound. Unfortunately, it was for naught, as the wound festered, leading to Drogo being at death's door.

For a brief moment, Dany considering utilising the skills of Mirri Maz Duur's blood magic, but was heavily persuaded by Doreah not to do so. The handmaiden had explained that blood magic was fickle, and Dany might end up sacrificing more than she was willing to, perhaps even the life of her son, in order to keep Drogo alive. The stress from the worrying over her husband's condition had led to an early labour for Dany. It was good fortune, however, that it was an easy birth, while also gave Dany a good enough reason to not sacrificing her son. It was then discovered that the poultice that the _maegi_ used was deliberately poisoned to exacerbate Drogo's wound. Realising the vengeful intentions of the woman, Dany there and then sentenced her to die. The style of execution; burning.

The funeral pyre of her husband's included Mirri Maz Duur tied to the pile of wood. While the pyre was burning, Dany stood to the holding two dragon eggs she was gifted. Almost as if in a trance, she had walked straight into the fire, ignoring the cries of alarm from her khalasar. The following morning, Dany rose from the charred remains of the pyre naked as the day she was born and unmarked save for the marks of soot across her body. Along with her were two hatched drakes, nursing at her teats. One was a creamy white and gold, while the other a dark green and bronze. She had taken to calling them Drogon and Rhaelion respectively, after Khal Drogo and her mother, Rhaella, respectively. Both were about the size of small kittens, and Dany was worried that without enough food, the dragons might die. Drogon seemed to want to be as close to Rhaego as possible, while Rhaelion was content to rest around Dany's neck and shoulders.

"Khaleesi, what do you intend on doing, now?" her loyal knight, Ser Jorah Mormont, asked, bringing Dany out of her thoughts.

"We follow the _Shierak Qiya_ ," Dany said, gazing at the red comet that streaked across the sky.

It appeared in the sky the day immediately following the hatching of her dragons. The old men of her khalasar mumbled of it being an ill omen. However, for Dany it was a herald of her coming.

"Khaleesi. That way leads to the red wastes" Doreah cautioned. It was advice like that, which made Dany suspicious of Doreah's background. In her mind, no pleasure slave ought to be that knowledgeable, but Dany mostly accepted the advice that was freely offered.

"The way the comet points is the way we must go," Dany insisted. Though in truth, it was the only option she had.

Turning back north would put her at the mercy of the first khalasar she might come across, and her own ragged band would be swallowed up immediately. The lands directly south held people that would not so much as even consider being hospitable towards them. The Lamb Men had no reason to love Dothraki, as it were. While Slaver's Bay was an option, it did run the risk of her and her people possibly being captured, sold into slavery and her dragon's taken away from her. That was not acceptable.

"We follow the comet," the Mother of Dragons declared, and her people obeyed.

Mother of Dragons. Daenerys the Unburnt. That was what she was called now. As far as she knew, Targaryen's were not fire proof, but seeing Viserys die from the molten gold, while she was able to hold a hot dragon egg and come out of a bonfire unharmed, made her start wonder if she was something special.

However, that was all irrelevant to the current situation. At present, they were making their way through the wastes, riding by night, and taking shelter in their tents during the day. On and on they went, leaving behind a trail of dead or dying horses.

It was three days into their entrance into the wastes, that the first of Dany's subjects died; and old and toothless man. He had fallen of his horse and was unable to rise again, leading to Dany to leave the worst of her horses behind so that the man might go mounted into the night lands. Two nights after that, an infant girl passed on. Her mother was inconsolable and she wailed all day, but nothing was to be done.

Soon enough, their supplies began to wane. Wine ran out first, soon followed by the milk of the clotted mare. Flatbread and the dried meat was all eaten, and the hunters were unsuccessful in finding game. It was only the flesh of their dead horses that sustained them from the on. Eventually, more and more succumbed to death. The weak. The young. The old. All died, in the inhospitable land. Even Irri and Jhiqui took a fever, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow. Their lips and hands were covered in blood blisters, and their hair fell out in clumps. Dany despaired, as her two handmaidens slowly withered away, and passed on. By her side, stood Doreah, as Dany wept.

Yet, in spite of her losses, Dany soldiered on. Almost all of her food went to feed her son and dragons. It was only by the will of the gods that Rhaego was still alive, and that she still had her mother's milk. She thanked whatever gods were listening that her children still lived. She wasn't so sure she would be able to go on, if even one of them died.

On and on, they walked. Some began to fear that the comet was a false symbol, one that was leading them to a form of hell.

"What lies to the far east, Ser Jorah?" Dany asked, one morning.

"Many a great kingdom, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah answered, "I have not been, but I have seen maps that show the cities of Asshai, Yi Ti and Qarth. Of the three, Qarth is the closest. It is also the city we are currently heading towards, if my memory serves correctly."

"Will we even live to make it there?" Dany ask, almost in a fatalistic manner.

The knight sighed.

"I will not lie to you, Khaleesi," he wearily said, "It is a hard path. Harder than I imagined. We might be doomed if we press ahead. However, this I can say for certain; trekking back the way we came will lead us to our deaths."

Dany mustered what she hoped was a bright smile. It was all she could do to show how grateful she was for the knight's words.

After two weeks of travelling the wastes, almost a third of what remained of her Khalasar had died, but she finally had some good news, when one of her outriders came racing back.

"A city, Khaleesi!" the rider cried, "Barely an hour's ride!"

"Blood of my Blood, ride ahead, and see what welcome we might expect," Dany commanded her three bloodriders; Jhogo, Aggo and Rakharo.

"Ai, Khaleesi," they obeyed.

They were not long to return.

"The city is dead, Khaleesi," Rakharo said, "The gates are broken, none but the wind and flies move through the streets."

Behind her, Dany's subjects whispered of ill omens. Ignoring them, she commanded the khalasar to make for the ruins. How long it was deserted, she did not know. Nevertheless, she commanded the men to search for food and water. Reluctantly as they went, the men soon came back with fruit and water. Dany's people were heartened by the sight of the food and drink, and ate greedily, though there was enough to feed them all.

As Dany watched them eat, she cooked meat for her dragons and fed Rhaego milk. The dragons were still rather small, no larger than the cats she saw during her stay in Pentos. Rhaego was still a babe, barely a month old. His skin had darkened to a copper-tone, and his white-blond hair was now fairly noticeable.

Doreah then came to her tent, informing her that Ser Jorah wished to speak with her.

"Send him in," Dany commanded.

"What is your will, Khaleesi?" the knight asked.

"For now, we rest," she replied, "Fill our skins and fix whatever needs fixing. Otherwise, we stay here until I can decide further."

"As you command, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah bowed, and made to leave, only for Dany to call back to him.

"Ser Jorah, a moment," she said, "There is something that has been bothering me, so I ask that you answer my question truthfully."

"Khaleesi?" the exiled knight wore a puzzled look.

"Why do you serve me, Ser Jorah?" she asked, "You swore your allegiance to my brother. Not me."

Ser Jorah blinked in surprise, before smiling softly.

"I serve you, because you are worth serving," he explained, "You are worth following. Worth fighting for. Until I came to Pentos, I was largely without purpose in my exile."

"Then, Ser Jorah. I would name you Lord Commander of my Queensguard," Dany softly commanded.

Ser Jorah knelt, with his head bowed.

"You honour me, Khaleesi."

"It is no more than what you deserve," Dany gently smiled, "I wish to rest, Ser Jorah. Please set up a watch. I would rather we were not preyed upon."

Ser Jorah rose, bowed, and then left to do as he was commanded. Though if Dany had looked closer at the knight, instead of tending to Rhaego, she might have seen an odd gleam in Ser Jorah's eyes.

Sleep came to her easy, that night, due in part to the fact that she no longer had to stress about find a potential shelter. As she slept, she dreamt. She dreamed of Drogo and of the first time they rode together. Only, instead of horses, it was dragons they rode on, and they had Rhaego with them.

On the next morning, she gathered her bloodriders.

"Blood of my Blood, I have need of you," she told them, "Ride southeast, and follow the _Shierak Qiya_. Go to Qarth, and see if we are welcome there."

They went, but not without protest. It was only the solemn promise of Ser Jorah that their Khaleesi would be protected that let them leave. In their absence, Dany settled down with her small khalasar, and set them to work. They had named the place Vaes Tolorro, the city of bones in the Common Tongue. Days went by with no sight of Aggo, Jhogo or Rakharo. The men tended to the horses, and mended that which need fixing. The women gathered fruits from the gardens. Even the children found the odd bronze coin that might have been worth something.

A week had past, and Dany feared that she had sent her bloodriders to their deaths. Yet even in her fear, outwardly she was a bastion of calm. Though, fortune struck, when on the eighth day, the riders returned. But they were not alone. Behind them, rode three others atop strange beasts with humped backs.

The party of six halted at the newly rebuilt city gates, and looked up to see Dany stare down at them.

"Blood of my Blood," Jhogo called out to her, "We come from the great city of Qarth with three who would look upon you with their own eyes."

"If you wish to look, then here I stand," Dany called back, "But first...I would have the names of the three with you, Blood of my Blood."

"I am Pyat Pree, the great warlock," a pale man with blue lips introduced.

Next came a bald man with a jewel adorning his nose, "I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos, of the Thirteen, a merchant prince of Qarth."

The final rider, was a woman in a lacquered mask, "I am Quaithe of the Shadow. We come seeking dragons."

Dany frowned at the request. She had not wanted to reveal her dragons, nor her son, so early.

"Seek no further," she boldly stated, "For a dragon is before you."

* * *

A week and a half's ride later, and Dany's meagre khalasar reached the walls of Qarth. Men beat gongs to herald her arrival, while other blew strange horns that encircled their bodies like a coil. An honour guard was provided, with the riders decked in copper armour and helms.

"Qarth is the greatest city that ever was, and ever will be," the warlock boasted, "It lies at the centre of the world. The known world's most important crossroad."

"It is ancient beyond measure. So magnificent that Saathos the Wise gouged his eyes after gazing upon Qarth for the first time. He knew that all he saw thereafter would be insignificant in comparison," Xaro Xhoan Daxos added.

Dany took the boast for what it was, but couldn't deny that the city held a certain magnificence that the Free Cities to the west couldn't quite match, save for maybe Braavos. Three thick, and elaborately carved walls encircled Qarth. The outermost wall was made of red sandstone, around thirty feet in height and adorned with murals of various animals. The middle wall was forty feet high and made of granite. It bore scenes of war and battle. The innermost wall was fifty feet of black marble, though Dany had to supress a blush at the carvings of men and women giving pleasure to one another.

The gates opened in welcome, with Dany at the head of the column. Inside, Dany saw that whatever colour was robbed from Vaes Tolorro, had been granted in abundance in Qarth. Streets and buildings were decked bright colour jewels. Qartheen men, women and children lined the streets, wearing extravagant gowns, silks and linens.

The sight of such rich clothing made Dany feel self-conscious of her lionskin robe, yet she held her head high, with Rhaellion around her shoulders, Rhaego in a sling across her chest, and Drogon on her lap.

Once they reach the end of an arcade that the warlock led her little khalasar down, Dany found herself the subject of an impromptu tug-of-war.

The matter of the subject was who would play host to the 'Mother of Dragons'.

Eventually, Dany interjected in the discussion and told them that she wasn't to linger long, and simply wanted ships to take her people back to Westeros, and swords to help her reclaim the Iron Throne.

"It shall be as you command, Khaleesi," Pyat smiled.

The merchant prince glanced at the blue lipped warlock, before turning towards Dany.

"There is a saying in Qarth. A warlock's house is built of bones and lies," he warned.

"Then why do men lower their voices when they speak of the warlocks of Qarth?" Dany politely inquired.

"Oh, once upon a time. They had power, great and terrible," Xaro agreed, "However, in recent decades, their power has waned. Making them a pale husk of the warlocks of old. Do not trust his gifts, for they will turn to ash in your hands."

"There goes a crow calling the raven black," Ser Jorah murmured in the Common Tongue, from her right hand, "I would trust neither man, Khaleesi."

"They would offer me the means to reclaim my home," Dany said, adjusting the sling so that Rhaego was suitably covered from the sun.

"They would offer you to world if it thought it might get what they want," the exiled knight cautioned, "I wouldn't linger here long, Khaleesi. The smells are not to my liking."

"Perhaps it is the camels you smell? The Qartheen are sweet enough to my nose," Dany smiled.

"Nice smells would be needed to cover up the foul ones."

Dany appreciated that Ser Jorah only had her best interests at heart, but felt a little chafed under his protection. Nevertheless, Dany accepted the hospitality of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, but whatever Dany expected it wasn't a palace that made Magister Illyrio's manse look like a decrepit hovel in comparison. The place was huge in size. An entire wing was allocated for her Dothraki and the horses. She had an entire garden, bathing pool, and tower to herself. Slaves would attend to her in her private chambers.

"This is a princely gift," Dany told the merchant prince.

"No gift is too great, for the Mother of Dragons," Xaro refuted.

Dany barely noticed her eyes, but began to notice a trend where she was only referred by that title. Perhaps Ser Jorah was right, that they only cared about her dragons.

Both the warlock and the merchant took their leave, but the last of the three who initially sought her lingered.

"Beware," Quaithe warned.

"Of what?" Dany asked.

"Of all," the masked woman elaborated, "None here are your allies, Stormborn. If you stay here too long, you will not be allowed to leave. Not with your dragons."

She then made to leave, but was stopped by the Khaleesi.

"And you?" Dany questioned, "Are you my ally?"

Quaithe paused, "No."

And with that, she left, leaving behind a confused Dany, and a suspicious Ser Jorah.

"She's not wrong," the exiled grunted, "But I don't trust her."

"We will keep our own watch, then," Dany decided. She turned to her bloodriders and spoke in their native tongue, "Insure none but our own guard this wing, Aggo."

"As you command, Khaleesi," Aggo said.

"We see only what they wish us to," Dany went on, "Rakharo, go and find out more. Then return and tell me what you find. Take men with you, and have women go where men cannot."

"It shall be done, Blood of my Blood," Rakharo bowed.

"Ser Jorah. Go to the docks and find out what ships lay anchor, and where they are sailing to," Dany commanded, "It has been some time since I last heard the situation in Westeros."

"My place is with you, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah protested.

"You know more languages than my bloodriders, Ser Jorah. Not to mention the Dothraki mistrust the sea. Besides, Jhogo can protect just as fine."

Reluctantly, the knight obeyed, leaving Dany to her thoughts. Leaving her dragons to feed on some cooked meat, she took Rhaego for a walk. She came across a marble pool with golden coloured fish inside. While Dany dipped her feet in the cool water, Rhaego reached out to the fish in typical infant curiosity. She had to smile at her child's actions, though her smile was tinged with grief at memory of her husband.

Moving away from such heavy thoughts, Dany's mind wandered to how she would return home. Her khalasar barely numbed one thousand, and less than half of that were actual warriors. Had Drogo lived, she would have had a khalasar numbering in the tens of thousands, but even then she had small doubts that it would have been watched desired. Dothraki were skilled, but only in slaughter and the sacking of cities. She did not want King's Landing to be like Vaes Tolorro; a ghost city, blackened and ruined.

' _I want King's Landing to be like Qarth, with the people smiling_ ,' she idly thought.

From what she knew, the Usurper was a fat whoremonger, and a pathetic king. Aegon the Unworthy come again, Magister Illyrio once commented. Then there were the Usurper's dogs. Tywin Lannister, whose men sacked the capital, and killed her father, goodsister, niece and nephew. And Eddard Stark. She was conflicted, when it came to the Starks. One on hand, her father did kill Rickard and Brandon Stark, but on the other hand, her brother was seduced by Lyanna Stark, making him forsake his vows to his wife.

She was forcefully snapped out of her thoughts from Rhaego pulling at her hair.

"Ah, Rhaego! No!" she scolded.

Her son was starting to get fussy, which let Dany know that Rhaego was hungry.

"Doreah," she called out to her handmaiden, "Help me up."

The former pleasure slave hurried forward, and took Rhaego from Dany, allowed the latter to stand up. A nearby slave gave her a towel to dry off her feet. Taking Rhaego back from Doreah, Dany strode towards where her dragons were waiting. Sitting down, she allowed both Drogon and Rhaellion to curl around her shoulders, while she fed Rhaego. As usual, the dragons were rather curious about Rhaego, almost as if they consider him to be a sibling. It was heartening to see Dany's three children interact.

It was close to evening and Dany was lulling Rhaego to sleep, when Doreah informed her that Ser Jorah had returned, and not alone.

"Send him, and whomever he has brought with him, in," Dany said, in interest.

When they entered, she sat on a mound of cushions, with Drogon and Rhaellion beside her. The man Ser Jorah brought was clearly a Summer Islander, wearing green and yellow feather cloak.

"Khaleesi," the knight said, "This is Quhuru Mo, the captain of the Cinnamon Wind out of Tall Trees Town."

The man knelt and greeted her in a bastard dialect of Valyrian, "I am greatly honoured by your presence, Mother of Dragons."

There was that title again. Dany begun to wonder if anyone remembered her name by this point.

"The honour is mine, captain," Dany replied in the same language, "What brings you to Qarth?"

"Trade, Your Grace," the captain answered, "Though, I come before you with a particular gift."

"A gift?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Quhuru Mo confirmed, "For you see. I came from Old Town, and I bare news from Westeros."

"Oh?"

"I tell it true, Stormborn, that Robert Baratheon is dead."

"Dead?" Dany repeated, "Are you certain?"

"It is said in Oldtown, in Dorne, in Lys, and beyond," Mo said.

How ironic war is that he is dead, when she was still alive, in spite of his attempt to poison her. Perhaps this would be her chance to retake her rightful throne.

"How did he die? And who sits on the Iron Throne now?" she then asked.

"Gored by a boar when hunting in the Kingswood, or so it is said," the captain explained, "Some whisper that he was poisoned by the Queen, while others say that the Starks are traitors."

"Why would the Usurper's dog be a traitor? Does not the Crown Prince share blood with the Starks?"

"Ah, but the Crown Prince supposedly does not have Baratheon blood."

"I-What?!" Dany cried out in shock.

"It is as I say, Dargonmother. Prince Haraldr is not of the House Baratheon," Quhuru Mo went on, "The Lannisters found out, and decried him a Usurper. Then both brothers of the late Robert declared themselves King, while the North and Riverlands rallied to Lord Stark and his nephew."

"Then who is the father of Stark's nephew, if not the Usurper?" Dany asked in confusion.

"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

What.

"…You lie…"

"I speak the truth only, Stormborn, for rumours in Dorne speak of the Targaryen Prince having a dragon of his own."

"I…Thank you for tell me this, Captain, but I must think on what you have told me," Dany said, putting aside her shock for the moment, "Will you sail for Westeros, soon?"

"I am afraid not, Your Grace. This is a trip a make each and every year, to sail the trader's circle round the Jade Sea."

"I see," Dany said, disappointed, "I wish you fair winds and good trading, then. You have given me a most precious gift. If there is something you wish, and it is within my power, I would grant it."

"There is no need, Dragonmother. What more can a wish for, besides what I have received already?"

"What do you mean?" Dany asked, puzzled.

The captain's eyes shone with excitement, "I have seen dragons."

Dany had to laugh.

"Well. Come see me in King's Landing, when I sit on my father's throne. You will see more of them, when you do," she said.

The merchant promised he would, and was escorted out by Doreah, leaving only Ser Jorah and her children.

"Your thoughts, my knight?"

"Four kings, where there were one, Khaleesi," he replied, with a frown, "This might be the time to strike, if you had an army behind your back."

"I agree," Dany nodded, "But I was asking more about my supposed nephew."

"I do not know if it is true or false, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah replied, "I have met Prince Haraldr, on occasion. He would make an excellent King, speaking honestly."

"Better than Viserys?" Dany heatedly asked.

Ser Jorah opened his mouth uncertainly, but was prevented from speaking by a raised hand from Dany.

"No matter. This…Haraldr is nothing more than a Blackfyre come again. My brother's true heir was his son, Aegon, then Viserys. With their deaths, I am the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"With all due respect, Khaleesi. The Great Lords will not bend the knee so easily. You will need a fleet, gold, armies, alliances-"

"All this, I already know, Ser Jorah," Dany interrupted, "I am not the scared naïve girl that you first met in Pentos. I am a Khaleesi, and the Mother of Dragons. I have their blood, and I will take back what is rightfully mine."

* * *

Several days later, and Dany was pacing in a room in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones. In seeking an audience with the Pureborn, Dany had made a traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered the customary bribe to the Keeper of the Long List and sent the usual persimmon to the Opener of the Door. Upon receiving the blue slippers that signified that she was being granted audience, she had swiftly made to meet with the rulers of Qarth. Yet, here she was, still being made to wait.

"They shouldn't make me wait," she bitingly said, her patience wearing thin.

"The Pureborn are the descendants of Qarth's ancient kings and queens," Xaro softly said, "If they deign to meet with anyone, they do so at their convenience.

"Of course, this would not have been necessary, if you had accepted my proposal," the merchant added.

Only the previous evening, at a party that the Thirteen hosted, did Xaro Xhoan Daxos offer to marry her. While initially surprised, Dany promptly rejected the proposal, deeming that she did not need to marry again.

"I already have a husband," she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Khal Drogo is dead, Khaleesi," Xaro bluntly stated, "Your son needs a father, and you are far too young to be a widow forever."

"I do not need to be told what my son, my _children_ , need," Dany curtly replied.

Xaro opened his mouth to speak, but was prevented from doing so by the arrival of a representative of the Pureborn, Mathos Mallarawan. He was bribed by Dany to try and sway the rest of the Pureborn to her cause. It was to Dany's hope, that he was successful.

"The Mother of Dragons," he cried out, "Forgive me, but I was in the middle of an exquisite meal when you arrived, and I could not come before finishing."

"It is no issue, my Lord," Dany smoothly waved off, a false smile on her face, "I am glad that you are willing to meet with me."

"Of course, of course," Mathos said, with a wry smile, "Now, have my servants offered something to eat? No? Not even a drink?"

"Thank you, but your servants cannot offer what I want."

Mathos' eyes narrowed, "And what is it, that you want, Little Princess?"

"My birth right," Dany revealed, "The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros."

"I fear that I am no better than a servant in this regard," Mathos remarked, "Neither I nor the remaining Pureborn can give you what we do not have."

"I am not asking you for the Kingdoms," Dany explained, "I am asking you for ships. I need to cross the Narrow Sea."

"And you have men for the ships you desire?" Mathos asked, his voice almost mocking.

"…No," Dany grudgingly admitted.

"Then you clearly wish for men from us, as well!"

"I do, yes."

"You ask for much, Daenerys Stormborn," Mathos said, after a moment's consideration, "You ask, yet you do not offering anything in return. That is not a favourable trade."

"Whatever you grant me now will be repaid beyond measure when I retake th-"

"Retake?" the noble interrupted with a frown, "Did you once sit on the Iron Throne?"

"It belongs to my ancestors. My father sat there, before he was murdered," Dany voice wavered, as she began to lose her resolve.

"If you did not sit on it yourself, would it not be correct to say 'Take the Iron Throne'?" Mathos inquired, speaking as though he was to a small child.

"I did not come here to argue grammar."

"Of course not!" Mathos agreed with a patronising smile, "You came for our ships. Our armies. You came for all this, and offer nothing for them in return, except for empty promises."

Mathos strode forward and stood before Dany.

"Let me explain my position, Princess," the noble began, "Qarth does not care for the politics of outsiders. Qarth does not care for the wars of foreigners. And Qarth most certainly does not care for the begging of a naïve young girl."

Dany was struck in to silence from the harsh words.

"The wealth of Qarth comes from its trade. As with all merchants, I base my dealings by considering the merits," Mathos went on, "You ask for ships and men. You say that we shall be repaid beyond measure. I do not doubt your honesty, or your intentions.

"But before you repay your debts, you must seize the Seven Kingdoms!" Mathos finished harshly, causing Dany to flinch.

"Let us say, hypothetically, that the Pureborn give you ships and men," Mathos proposed, "Do you have allies in Westeros, in which to aid you?"

"There are many there that support my claim!" Dany insisted.

"When you were the last?"

"…I left when I was a baby," Dany hesitantly told the noble.

"So, in truth, you have no allies," Mathos said, his voice revealing his agitation, "And I have heard the rumours of another who bears the name Targaryen, who _has_ allies, and is _winning_."

"He nothing but a pretender!"

"And yet, the people support him," Mathos refuted.

"The people will rise to fight for their _rightful_ Queen, when I return," Dany stubbornly maintained.

Mathos sighed in frustration.

"Forgive me, little Princess, but the Pureborn cannot make an investment in nothing but hopes and dreams."

"It was a dream that led to my dragons hatching!" Dany persisted, causing Mathos to pause, "Do you know Ilyrio Mopatis? A magister in Pentos?"

"By reputation," Mathos admitted.

"For my wedding, he gifted me two dragon eggs. Eggs that many believed long since petrified," Dany began, "The world believed that the ages had turned them to stone. But I dreamt of them hatching! My own people thought I was mad for walking into a fire willingly! And yet, I came out unharmed and with dragons!"

The member of the Pureborn remained silent, but had a slight smile on his lips.

"Do you understand?" Dany continued, "I am no ordinary woman. My dreams come true."

After a brief second of silence, Mathos spoke.

"I admire your passion," he said, honestly, "But in business I trust in logic, not passion. I am sorry little Princess."

He walked away towards the doors from whence he came, as Dany called out to him.

"I am not your anything!" she snarled, "I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. I will take back what is mine, in Fire and Blood!"

"If you say so, my Lady," Mathos calmly said over his shoulder, "But you will not have Qarth's aid in doing so."

Dany stood there, her chest heaving, as the doors closed with a resounding thud. Her last gambit to fulfil her dream had failed.

"Come, Princess," Xaro beckoned, "We must leave now."

Silently, Dany left the Hall, and towards the where Xaro's palanquin was resting. She remained silent all throughout the ride back to Xaro's palace, and did not speak until they returned.

"I thought you said we could trust him," she eventually said.

"If you would properly recollect what I told you, I said that we could trust Mathos Malarawan enough to meet with him," Xaro corrected, "I did not say he would give what you wanted."

Dany let out an unladylike snort.

"Of course," she scoffed, "The Thirteen will not help me. The Tourmaline Brotherhood will not even hear my plea. The leader of the Spice Guild will grant me a ship, but only if I lay with him, for the night."

"Things worth having, don't come easy, Khaleesi," Xaro said.

"Spare me," Dany dismissed.

"If only you would consent to marry me," Xaro sighed

Dany ignored the merchant, instead considering her remaining options.

"Would the Undying Ones assist me?" Dany then asked.

Xaro hummed in thought.

"They might," he admitted, "I would not go to them."

"Why not?" Dany was curious now.

"Hm. How best to put this,"Xaro mused, "Ah. Let me put it this way. Every person who lives in Qarth does what they will for the benefit of Qarth. Save for the Warlocks. They do what they will for the benefit of themselves.

"I do not doubt that they would help you. However, their help will come with a wicked price," Xaro warned, "The question you must ask yourself, is whether or not you are willing to pay."

"I don't know."

"Then perhaps you should reconsider."

Dany thought about it. In some respects it would easy to just live out her life in Qarth. Could she do it? Possibly. Should she do it? Perhaps not. All her life, she was brought up to believe that her family had the divine authority to rule, that dragons bowed to no one. A small part of her was aware that some of what she was taught wasn't strictly true, but the larger part of her had long since accepted what Viserys had told her. It was that part her that ruthlessly suppressed the doubt that had somewhat taken a hold of her mind and squashed it into submission.

"No," she finally said, her mind made up, "I will not marry you, Xaro. I will retake my family's throne. With or without Qarth's help."

Xaro narrowed his eyes.

"So be it," he said, indifferently.

By this point, they had reached the wing where her khalasar was housed. What awaited her was not what she expected. The half a dozen men she had ordered to guard the wing were strewn across the courtyard, their throats slit. After a scant few seconds looking around, Dany rushed towards where she had left Rhaego, Drogon and Rhaellion, praying that the worst hadn't happened.

As she ran, she barely heard Xaro call out to bar the gates, while her bloodriders followed behind her. Within a minutes she made it to her quarters, only to find the cages for her dragons broken on the floor and Rhaego nowhere to be seen.

"Where are they?" she cried, "Where is my son? Where are the dragons? _WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN_?!"

The shuffle of footsteps caught Dany's attention. Immediately, she took a rudimentary defensive guard against the potential threat. It was for naught, however, as a doorway opened to reveal Doreah, holding a baby in her arms.

"Rhaego!" Dany exclaimed, running towards her son.

"Khaleesi! Thank the gods," the handmaiden breathed a sigh of relief.

"What happened?" Dany demanded.

"Th…The Milk Men came, Khaleesi!" Doreah explained, stuttering from the lingering shock, "They killed the guards. I had to choose between your son and your dragons. Please forgive me Khaleesi, I have failed you!"

"No! No, you have nothing to forgive, Doreah," Dany soothed, "You did the best you could in the situation you were in. I couldn't be more proud of you."

"Thank you Khaleesi," Doreah hiccupped, with a tearful smile.

A soft cough caught the attention of the two young women. Xaro stood at the entrance way, with a concerned expression on his face.

"Khaleesi, an emissary from the House of the Undying came just now," Xaro said, "The Warlocks are expecting you."

"They dare use my dragons as bait?" Dany hissed, "Very well. I will gather my bloodriders and Ser Jorah an-"

"Forgive me for interrupting, Khaleesi, but they said to come alone," Xaro revealed.

"What?!"

"If you do not, then they will kill your dragons before you even reach halfway," the merchant finished, with a grim look.

Dany paused to think. It was clearly a trap, but if she did not go then her dragons were forfeit. That alone, was reason enough. What mother would even consider abandoning her children?

"So be it," she finally acceded.

* * *

The House of the Undying, colloquially known as the Palace of Dust, was out of place, given the extravagance of Qarth. It was a grey and ancient ruin, standing alone in a grove of blackened trees. As she approached, the doors opened without assistance, prompting Dany to cautiously enter. The doors then suddenly closed with a resounding thud, leaving Dany in darkness.

She wasn't without light for long, however, as the tunnelway she stood in was lit with several torches. This allowed Dany to see the end of the corridor. The exit wasn't quite visible, but Dany heard to cries of her dragons echo in the tunnel. Needing no further prompting, she then made her way down, entering a circular room with a stone table in the middle. Around the walls were four doors. Picking one, she entered another room, one identical to the last. Again, she chose the same door as before, and found herself in yet another anteroom with four doors.

' _What manner of sorcery is this_?' she wondered.

Picking a different door, Dany did not enter another chamber of the same design, but instead Dany found herself in a large hall, filled with dragon skulls and red banners with black, three-headed dragons.

Before she could so much as even wonder what was going on, a voice from behind her called out to her.

"And who might you be?" a croaky voice asked, "Another traitor?"

Turning around, Dany came face to face with the very thing she sought; the Iron Throne. Upon said throne was a gaunt looking man, with a long, matted beard and hair that fell past his shoulders. Both were of a silver-gold colour. His fingernails were long claws that were yellowed and cracked. This was Aerys II, the last Targaryen to be king. To Dany, however, he was otherwise known as:

"Father?" Dany whispered.

"Father?" Aerys cackled, "I have no daughter girl! Rhaella, the useless women she is, hasn't born be a daughter. I have sons, a traitorous craven and a useless child!"

"No! Father! I _am_ your daughter!" Dany insisted, "Mother was with child once more!"

" _NO_! I will hear your lies no longer!" Aerys denied, "I will not suffer liars and traitors! And do you know I do to traitors?"

Dany was unable to speak at the fury in her father's, or the apparition of her father, voice. Audibly gulping, she shook her head.

"We _burn them_ ," he snarled, " _WE BURN THEM ALL_!"

Unable to hear anymore, Dany fled leaving the Great Hall of the Red Keep. As she ran, echoes of ' _BURN THEM ALL_ ' followed her. She then paused, after a while, to take deep breaths of air, and calm her beating heart. Suddenly, the cries of Drogon and Rhaellion caught her attention, and she ran in the direction of the sound. Shortly, she found herself in the central fortress of the Red Keep.

' _This must be Maegor's Holdfast_ ,' she thought, remembering the stories her brother told her.

Without warning, the room she was in span, and Dany's sight blurred from dizziness. As this happened she was bombarded with images and visions, none of which made sense.

In one scene, she saw a beautiful woman, naked on the floor, being ravaged by four little men. They had rat-like faces, and tiny pink hands. One was between the woman's thighs, thrusting away, another was pumping into the woman's mouth. The other two were attacking the woman's breasts, biting savagely.

Next, she came upon a massacre at a feast. Men were brutally slaughtered. Bodies, limbs and heads laid everywhere. In the centre of it all, was a throne of bronze, with a horrifying figure sat upon it. A figure with a man's body, but a grossly oversized wolf's head, stared at Dany with sightless eyes. It wore a crown of iron, and held a leg of lamb, as one might a sceptor.

Her next vision granted her a familiar sight. It was the house with the red door in Braavos. She saw as a younger version of herself and her brother stood outside, before Viserys said some words. The vision turned dark, then, but Dany needed no further reminder. The memories were rather vivid.

Finally, her sight returned to her, and the spinning ceased. Dany wasn't sure where she was this time, but she was in the presence of a tall man with silver-blond hair and eyes of dark indigo with a woman with olive skin and black eyes. At first, she mistook the man for Viserys, but a second glance convinced her otherwise.

"Rhaegar and Elia," Dany whispered in realisation.

" _You cannot have any more children_?" Rhaegar asked, with a sorrowful expression.

" _The maesters confirmed it_ , _my love_ ," Elia answered, " _Rhaenys' birth did irreparable damage. Another child might kill the babe and me both_."

" _I see_ ," Rhaegar said, frowning, " _Our enemies are bearing down on us. Without a clear line of succession, House Targaryen might be brought to extinction_."

' _But what of Aegon_?' Dany thought, ' _Was that a lie_? _Is this Haraldr truly my nephew, and if so, do I even have a claim to the throne_?'

" _I am so sorry, my love_ ," Elia apologised, lowering her eyes, " _I failed in my duty_."

" _This is not your fault_ ," Rhaegar refuted, gently grasping his wife's chin to look directly into her eyes, " _Never blame yourself for something out of your control_."

Dany watched as Elia smiled sadly at Rhaegar, before the Dornish Princess' eyes lit up.

" _I may have an idea_ ," she said.

However, before the Bard Prince could ask for elaboration, the man and wife faded into mist. This left Dany behind to hear the cries of her dragons once more, causing her to speed on her way.

On and on, she ran, as the cries of the dragons grew louder and clearer. How much time had passed, she did not know. To her fear, the torches that lit the passageways were, one by one, going out. Her pace quickened, as the creeping shadows followed her. It was to her good fortune that she managed to reach the door at the end of the hall, before the final torch guttered out. Enveloped in darkness, Dany pushed the doors open, and entered the circular room with the stone table once more.

However, this time, a crystal glass was on the table, filled with a blue liquid.

"You must drink it," the voice of Pyat Pree informed her, from behind Dany.

Startled, Dany spun on the spot, and glared at the Warlock.

"You!" she shouted, "Where are my dragons!"

"All in good time," the pale man deflected, "Drink, and open yourself."

"Will you give me my dragons if I do?" Dany asked, with a touch of naivety.

"Of course. Now drink," Pyat Pree urged.

"Will it turn my lips blue?"

"Nay, only unstop your ears and clear your eyes. All to ensure the truth will before you."

Dany raised the glass to her lips. The first sip tasted like a foul concoction of spoiled milk and rotten meat, and almost made her spit it out. However when she swallowed, it seemed to come alive. She could warmth spread through her chest, like tendrils of fire twisting around her heart. On her tongue was a mixture honey, cream, and every other taste that she ever savoured in her short life.

The moment the glass was empty, she dropped it. Ignoring the shattering of the glass, Dany clutched her head as she was once more bombarded with visions. This time, however, the visions were unclear, granting her barely a second to even comprehend what she saw.

She saw Viserys screaming, as molten gold dripped down his cheeks. She witnessed a monstrous beast of fire and shadow roaring at a man with a shining sword. She saw rubies flying from the chest of a dying prince, his last words that of a woman's name. She watched as a blue-eyed king, who cast no shadow, raise a red sword towards the sky. Three dragons. Creatures of ice and snow. A giant wall. Her silver. A white lion. The house with the red door. Willem Darry extending a hand towards her. Mirri Maz Duur shrieking in the flames. Visions came and went, in the blink of an eye.

With great effort, Dany opened her eyes, but soon wished that she hadn't. All around her were _things_ , ancient and withered. Their skin was violet, the whites of their eyes and their nails blue. They were unmoving, even to the point of not breathing, yet they whispered.

" _Mother_!" they cried out to her, " _Mother_ , _mother_!"

They reached for her, tearing away at her dress, touching her. They tugged at her cloak, her foot, her arms, and even her breasts. She struggled to breathe, as she felt the very essence of her life drawn from her. Yet, in an instant, a figure of pure white light appeared, scattering the creatures, who shrieked in pain.

" _That's quite enough_ , _I should think_ ," though the voice was soft, the power behind the command ensured that the Undying Ones, or so Dany supposed, obeyed without challenge.

A scant few seconds later, and the light waned, leaving behind a young man, not much older than she, in its place. The man wore an outfit of black leathers, armour, and a black surcoat with a silver dragon depicted on the chest. He had black hair, and mismatched eyes, one violet like her own, and the other a striking green.

" _Are you alright, Aunt Daenerys_?" the man asked, which made Dany realise that this was her supposed nephew, Haraldr.

"I…I'm fine, thanks to you," she gasped, "But…How are you here?"

" _I'm not_. _Not really_ ," he said, shaking his head _, "This is just a…hm…A magical projection_."

Before she could reply to that, Dany was interrupted by the ancient warlocks.

" _You cannot harm us here, Dragonlord_!" one of them screeched, " _We will not be denied our feast_!"

" _Perhaps I cannot_ ," Haraldr agreed, much to the surprise of Dany, " _But you will be denied. Just not by me_."

" _Then who_?"

" _Who else_?" Dany's nephew grinned, " _There isn't little boy born who would not tear the world apart to save his mother_."

A loud crash startled everyone else, as a nearby wall collapsed. Out of the freshly made hole, a new figure stepped through. The figure was clearly male, wearing naught but a pair of leather breeches and boots. He was tall, almost as tall as Drogo, with copper-skin, and long silver-blond hair tied up in a dothraki style braid with several bells. In his hands were a pair of arakhs, made of Valyrian steel. However, it was the eyes that caught Dany's attention; deep violet eyes, like her own. It was them that made Dany realise who he was.

"Rhaego," she whispered, almost reverently.

Her grown up son turned to her with a smile on his face.

" _Mother_ ," he greeted, before turning to Haraldr, " _Cousin. Thank you for aiding my mother_."

" _Think nothing of it_ ," her nephew smiled, " _I look forward to meeting you both, in due time_."

With that said, he too dissolved into mist, leaving Dany with only her son to protect her.

" _This is who will defeat us_?" the shadows cackled, " _A spectre from the days yet to come_?"

" _Nay_ ," Rhaego said, shaking his head _,_ " _I think my siblings ought to take revenge on their captors, no_? _Drogon_! _Rhaellion_! _Come_!"

With shrieks of rage, they came and landed on either side of Rhaego. Flaring the wings, both Drogon and Rhallion shrieked once more, causing the Undying Ones to flinch.

" _Mother_ ," Rhaego called out to Dany, a smirk adorning his lips, " _Care to do the honours_?"

Dany blinked in confusion, not understanding the question. Rhaego nodded towards the dragons, leading Dany to realise what her son meant. She smirked as well before turning to the Undying Ones.

" _ **Dracarys**_ ," she commanded.

Immediately, both dragons took a deep breath, before spitting out torrents of fire each. The flames consumed them, as the Undying Ones screamed in pain. Their flesh crumbled to ash, and their bones charred into dust. Dany watched impassively, as her dragons burned indiscriminately. Eventually, none were left but mother, son and the dragons. After a few moments, Dany turned to Rhaego, frowning.

"How are you here?" she asked, "Why are you here?"

" _About a week ago, from my perspective, his Grace summoned me, and shared a rather strange tale_ ," Rhaego began to explain, " _A tale of time-travel, and the necessity of acting to ensure the past went as was recorded_."

"I don't understand," Dany confessed.

" _I still don't_ ,"Rhaego sheepishly admitted, " _His Grace merely said to accept it for what it was, and try not understand. When it comes to time-travel, one just learns to take things as they come_."

Unsure what to say to that, she changed the topic.

"His Grace?"

" _Mn. His Grace, Haraldr Targaryen, first of his name, and so on and so forth_ ," Rhaego replied, " _Admittedly, he is a rather popular ruler_."

"I see."

" _Mother, I know this disappoints you. That you do not become Queen_ ," Rhaego went on, " _But take heart that we do indeed return to Westeros. We do return home_."

Dany had to smile at the earnest tone in which her son spoke.

"It will take some time to come to terms with what I've learned, but…I think it's time to travel west," Dany said.

Rhaego grinned. As his legs started to vanish into mist, he approached his mother, and cupped her ear. He then whispered something before retreating. As his finally disappeared, he offered a silent wave, one that Dany returned as her dragons flared the wings.

"Goodbye my son," she murmured, "I will see you soon."

With that, she scooped up Drogon and Rhaellion and headed through the hole without even a backwards glance.

* * *

The reactions to the burning of the House of the Undying were mixed. For her Dothraki, it was a victory. One that merited a bell being fastened to her braided hair. Once, she might have deflected the victory to Drogon and Rhaellion, perhaps even to Rhaego, but now she held her tongue, thinking that the Dothraki would hold her in higher esteem with a few bells in her hair.

However, as a result of the burning, she and her khalasar were no longer welcome in the house of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, nor in Qarth as a whole. She was given two days to find a ship, or she would be evicted from the city, violently if needed.

So here she was, at the docks, looking for a ship and captain willing to ferry her and her people west. While Ser Jorah was off speaking with various captain, Dany was pondering over the visions she had in the House of the Undying. She had not spoken on what she experienced to anyone, and instead retreat inwards to consider what had seen. After finding out that who she thought was a pretender was in actual fact the legitimate heir to the Targaryen Dynasty, she began to doubt everything she learnt from Viserys. That her family had divine authority to rule. That the dragon reigned supreme over all else. It was enough to drive her mad, were it not for the words the older form of her son in High Valyrian. ' _Never surrender, and never falter_ ' he had said. Before she could consider further, however, she was interrupted by her loyal knight.

"Khaleesi, a man has come to see you," Ser Jorah said, "He says he comes on behalf of a 'fat man with a sweet stink'."

Dany's eyebrow rose up in intrigue, ' _That description sounds an awful lot like Illyrio_.'

"Bring him to me," she commanded, wondering why the magister, if it was indeed him, had deigned to contact her, after a year since he and Viserys sold her off to her late husband. Not that she had any issues regarding her marriage, but the principle of the matter remained.

The knight gestured for the man to come. He was huge, rotund man, with nut-brown skin, smooth cheeks of a eunuch, and a bald head. Dany estimated the man's weight to be anywhere between fifteen and twenty stone, more than twice her own size. His massive belly was adorned with countless scars, and his arms were comparable to tree-trunks. He wore baggy pants, a mustard yellow bellyband and a tiny leather and studded vest that only partially covered his huge chest. He was armed with a Dothraki arakh and a small buckler. The man clumsily bowed, as Ser Jorah spoke.

"This is Belwas, Khaleesi," the knight introduced, "He was a former slave that the Magister freed and then tasked to bring you back to Pentos. He has with him three ships that should be enough to hold your khalasar, horses and all."

"Greetings Belwas," Dany nodded in greeting, before raising an eyebrow, "From where to do you hail, that would leave you with all these scars?"

"You honour me, Khaleesi. Strong Belwas they name me in the fighting pits of Meereen. Never did I lose. I let each man cut me once, before I kill him. Count the scars and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain," Belwas replied, "From Meereen I was sold to Qohor, and then to Pentos. There, the fat man with sweet stink in his hair freed me. It was he who send Strong Belwas back across the sea."

"Indeed? Then be welcome Strong Belwas. This is Ser Jorah Mormont, a knight of my Queensguard. Ko Aggo, Ko Jhogo and Ko Rakharo are Blood of my Blood."

"Horse boys," Belwas let out a toothy grin, "Belwas killed many a horse boy in the pits of Meereen. They are fun to kill."

Aggo drew his arakh, fuming at the insult.

"Never have I killed a fat brown man. Strong Belwas will be the first," he seethed.

"Enough. Blood of my Blood. Stay your blade," Dany interrupted, "If both of you are to protect me, I will not have you at each other's throats. And Belwas, do not insult my people lest you leave my service with more scars than you came with."

The Dothraki grudgingly sheathed his arakh, as Belwas' wide grin morphed into a confused scowl. Dany then smiled at the huge man, to take away some of the sting from the rebuke.

"Now tell me; what would Magister Illyrio have of me, that he would send you all the way from Pentos?" she asked.

"He would have dragons," Belwas gruffly stated, no longer in a jovial mood, "And he would have the girl who makes them. He would have you."

"I see. I have two dragons, and my son besides," she said, "As well as almost a hundred in my khalasar, with all their belongings and horses."

"It is no matter," Belwas boomed, "We take all. The fat man hires three ships for his little queen and her dragons."

"It is as he says, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah added, "Two galleys and a cog. The latter is berthed at the quay, while the other two are anchored beyond the breakwater."

' _Three ships, three dragons_ ,' she idly thought. Out loud, she said, "I shall have my people prepared to depart at once. However, the ships will bear different names. Name of power. The galleys shall be named Balerion and Vhagar, while the cog shall bear the title of Meraxes.

"Paint the names on the hull in golden letters. I was every man who sees them to know of my return," she commanded, "To know of the return of the dragons."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well. I'm back, with my longest chapter to date. Unfortunately, this was just a bit of canon rehashing, with a slight twist that I hope you all appreciate. As for when this chapter takes place, it runs concurrently with chapters nine through to twelve, and about as far as chapter fifteen. It would depend on how many chapters it would take to finish up my equivalent of the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

Next chapter, we will return to Westeros, so don't worry. I won't be leaving last chapter's cliffhanger resolved for long. The chapter is nearly finished, as it is.

* * *

 **Next update** : Sometime in the next two weeks. I can't really guarantee any sooner, nor a more accurate prediction.


	14. The Fury of a Dragon

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.

* * *

 **~ The Fury of a Dragon ~**

* * *

After receiving word of Theon's victory, Harry mustered his forces, so that he could reach Casterly Rock before any sufficient counterattack could be made. As it was, he had ordered his uncle to move towards Ashemark, the Crag and beyond, while he had Robb backtrack to oversee the surrender of Sarsfield and the Golden Tooth. While that went on, Harry led his men on a series of takings of castles in the Westerlands on the way to the Rock. After a fortnight, Harry received word that his uncle had successfully captured Ashemark, with Damon Marbrand taken captive. The men that he commanded were camped barely a day's march from Casterly Rock.

He stood over a map of the Westerlands, with Jör around his neck, and Fenrir lounging around under the table.

"What are our supplies like?" Harry inquired, well aware that without secure supply lines, defeat for his army was all but certain.

"We have enough food to last a week, maybe two," Lord Cerwyn replied, "Once we resupply at Casterly Rock, we might last longer."

"Hm. Morale?"

"High enough, Your Highness. The victories keep the men rallied," Ser Edmure answered, "Though some being to wonder when we'll march on King's Landing."

"This army will be held in reserve, once the Westerlands are secure," Harry informed the lords, "I will take my personal guard and ride for Harrenhal and use the army that Lord Umber commands."

"Speaking my Lord father, Your Highness, he bids me to tell you that the Riverlands are being set upon by raiders," the Smalljon then said, "They're being led by a man with a lightning banner."

"Lightning banner?" Harry repeated with a frown, "Beric Dondarrion? Shouldn't he be with either of the Baratheon brothers?"

"Yes, Your Highness, but he claims to fight in the name of the late King Robert."

' _What_.'

"Say that again?" Harry requested, bemused.

"This Brotherhood without banners, as they're being called by the smallfolk, were harassing Lannister holdouts, and now they're fighting the men my father sends out to keep the peace."

' _Well, that's a problem and a half_ ,' Harry thought, rubbing his eyes.

"Inform Lord Umber to pursue them," he commanded, "If any of them belong to a Noble House, then the Greatjon is to take them alive. Sellswords and the like are of lesser importance."

"As you say, Your Highness," the Smalljon bowed.

' _Hm, with Uncle Eddard in command of the fifteen thousand men north of here, that leaves me with a little over forty-five thousand left_ ,' Harry thought, contemplating his next order.

"Lord Cerwyn. I'd like for you, Lord Blackwood and Ser Marq Piper to take some twenty thousand men, and move west from here," Harry ordered, "You are to take Kayce and Feastfires, before moving north from there to take the Fair Isle. Once you've taken the island, link up with my Uncle, and come back south to Casterly Rock. Prepare now, and leave as soon as you are able."

"Yes, Your Highness," the men that were chosen bowed, and left the tent.

"With the northern half of the Westerlands under our control, we have access to the gold mines that make Tywin Lannister supposedly shit gold," Harry went on, "I want an immediate seizure of any and all reserves of gold, and future ores that will be mined to be diverted to our own stores. Let it be known that any thieves found caught stealing the aforementioned gold for themselves are to be held prisoner and await execution."

"Your Highness. May I ask why we need such amounts?" Jon inquired.

"Out of all the debt the Crown as incurred, the most dangerous is the one owed to the Iron Bank of Braavos," Harry explained, "That sum, above all others, must be paid as swiftly as is physically possible."

"Understandable," Karstark gruffly remarked.

"Lord Mallister, you, Lord Bracken and Daryn Hornwood will ride to Saltpans and charter a ship to Braavos," Harry told the man, "Head to the Iron Bank, and inform whoever receives you that I wish to discuss the repayment plan for the loan. Tell them specifically that I would prefer to discuss the deal with a representative in person. So as to come to a swift agreement."

The Lords of Seagard, Stone Hedge, and the new Lord of Hornwood, following the death of Halys Hornwood at the Green Fork, bowed and left the tent. Once they did so, a familiar young woman then entered.

"Your Highness, a minute of your time?" Talisa said.

"Of course, though I was not aware you decided to remain and march with my army," Harry said.

"I go where I'm needed," Talisa merely stated.

Harry nodded and gestured for the healer to continue.

"I've been treating your wounded men," she began.

"And the men of our enemies," Lord Karstark growled.

"They are not _my_ enemies," Talisa refuted, turning to Lord Karstark with a steely gaze.

"She's right, Lord Karstark," Harry added, "A healer's prerogative is to aid all those in need of it, irrespective of allegiances. Even in wars. _Especially_ in wars."

The Lord of Karhold grunted noncommittedly, but said nothing else, allowing for Talisa to continue.

"I've run through all of the supplies that I brought with me," she explained, while fiddling with her hands, "Some are easily replaced; egg yolks, turpentine, oil of roses."

"But some are not?" Harry guessed, seeing where this was going.

"I need silk for stitching," she nodded and continued, "I need fennel root, for those with a fever. Willow bark. But, mostly importantly, I need milk of the poppy. You saw what it was like to amputate a foot without any. I assume there will be more loss of limbs before this war is over."

"If you need assistance in finding the-"

"I know where to find them," Talisa interrupted, prompting the tent to go silent in shock at the healer's audacity. Realising to whom she was speaking to, Talisa looked down in shame, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you."

"Its fine," Harry dismissed, grinning slightly, "Continue…My Lady."

Talisa looked up in surprise, before smiling.

"Your army marches for Casterly Rock, yes?" she then asked.

"Aye, it's a day's ride," Harry confirmed.

"The Rock will have a maester and he will have what I need," she explained.

"Of course."

"If I could write a list-"

Harry held up a hand to stop her. He scrutinised her for a bit, before speaking.

"Ser Damon," he called out to the Wolfsguard on duty, "Assemble a small guard to take Lady Talisa to Casterly Rock, where she may find the supplies she requires. Have Sers Robar and Perwyn lead the escort."

"Of course, my Prince," the Dornish knight obeyed.

"I trust this will suffice?" Harry asked, looking at the healer.

"I don't think that will b-"

"My men won't know what is what," the prince said, "If you go, then you can take the best of the maester's stock. I want the wounded men to be treated well…All the wounded men."

Talisa slowly nodded, with a bemused if intrigued smile. She nodded and exited the tent.

Harry then turned to face the remaining lords, of whom bore grins, smiles or looks of disapproval.

"What?"

However, before anyone could answer, another person entered the tent, this time, a clearly feminine figure with a hood up. The person pulled down the hood, revealing Gildan, who subsequently kneeled.

"My Prince," the spy greeted, "I bring word from Khalen in the Vale."

"Finally," Harry groused as he sat down. News from the Vale had been scarce for far longer than he would have liked, "Well? Go on, then."

"It would appear that Lysa Arryn is responsible for her husband's death," the spy revealed.

" _WHAT?!_ " the lords present shouted at once.

"My sister would do no such thing!" Ser Edmure cried out, aghast.

"According to Khalen, Lysa Arryn poisoned the late Hand using a fast acting poison acquired from Pycelle's stocks," Gildan continued, unperturbed by the reaction of the lords, "However, she did not act out of her own accord."

"At last the would-be cyvasse master is known to us," Harry murmured, as his eyes narrowed, "Continue."

"Petyr Baelish."

"That fucker!" the Prince spat. Of course it would be the Mockingbird. No one else would have such…ambition and gall to act in such a manner.

"Merciful gods," Ser Edmure whispered, "So it is true."

Snapping out of his anger, Harry turned to the knight.

" _What_ is true?" he inquired in confusion.

"Baelish used to be fostered at Riverrun. Sometime during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, his father befriended my own. I believe, it was through that relationship the fostering occurred," the heir to Riverrun explained, "He was enamoured with Cat, and challenged Brandon Stark for her hand in marriage."

"I know the story, get to the point," Harry bluntly commanded.

"Yes, your Highness," Ser Edmure hastily obeyed, "I know, off-hand, that my sisters and Baelish practised kissing, but I believe that Lysa gave her maidenhead to Baelish. My father made some random comments when I tried to talk to him, a few months back and he rambled about wanting forgiveness from Lysa."

"That…I don't know what to say to that," Harry admitted.

"My Prince, there is more," Gildan interjected, "With no other males bearing the name of Arryn, bar young Robert, the line of succession would have passed to one Harrold Hardyng. However, the knight fell in a skirmish against the mountain clans of the Vale. With the current Lord Paramount of the Vale being of a weak disposition, there is much furore over who the future ruler of the Vale might be."

Harry fell silent in contemplation. As of that moment, he knew that the Blackfish would support him, by virtue of being a Tully. He did wonder why Ser Brynden had not come sooner but put it down to wanting to be close to his niece.

"If no one else can make a suitable claim, I'm inclined to give it to House Royce. They ruled the Mountain, prior to the Andal Invasion, if I'm not mistaken," Harry said.

"You'd earn the ire of House Redfort and House Waynwood with that decision," Bolton cautioned, "They are of equal standing to House Royce."

"Neither House Redfort, nor House Waynwood held significant dominion during the Age of Heroes, Lord Bolton. Surely, they would rally to Lord Yohn?" Harry asked.

"You would be in the right, my Prince," Gildan revealed, "He leads a contingent of Lords and Ladies who plan on placing Lady Arryn under house arrest, and taking stewardship of the Vale."

"Good. I will have word sent to Lord Royce and the Blackfish. Lord Yohn can take command of the contingent of Valemen, and link up with the Greatjon at Harrenhal. Combine the forty-five thousand men or so that they can muster with the thirty or so thousand at Harrenhal, and the Lannisters would have little chance of holding the capital."

"Do you plan on having that army siege King's Landing?" Jon softly inquired.

"Not yet," Harry shook his head, "As of this moment, King's Landing is about to be caught in a three-way battle, between the Baratheon brothers and the Lannisters. The best option is to see who is to be the victor and then attack when they least expect it. Their armies will be exhausted and easy pickings for our own."

"That's a coward's tactic," Karstark spat.

Harry had to sigh at that. The First Men were all about honour, and truth be told, it was starting to try his patience. Harry was well aware that a man without honour is little better than a crook, but honour had little use in a war when the opposing side would see it as a weakness.

"We have the advantage as of now, Lord Karstark," Harry patiently explained, "The more of the Westerlands we successfully take and secure, the more agitated the Old Lion will be. In that agitation, he will make mistakes. Mistakes he would not make otherwise, and mistakes that we can exploit.

"I'm not suggesting we rest on our laurels. Far from it, in fact," he went on, "I'm just directing our armies to where we can win. I would rather minimise our casualties as much as possible."

The Lord of Karhold huffed, but made no further comment.

"Do you have any word from Ser Barristan?" Harry then asked Gildan, who waited patiently, "What about the whereabouts of Daenerys."

"Ser Barristan is currently in Pentos, investigating the Cheesemonger. Far as we can tell, Princess Daenerys was last seen alive in Vaes Dothrak," Gildan replied, "She could be anywhere between Slaver's Bay, New Ibbish and Qarth, by now."

"That is far more troubling than I originally thought. Do we know if Doreah is still alive? What about agents in Qarth or New Ibbish?"

"There was no justifiable reason until now to have agents in either Qarth or New Ibbish, my Prince, though I believe Master Caius is taken taking steps to correct that. And Doreah last checked in at Vaes Dothrak. Since then, we have heard nothing."

Harry mulled over the new information, as he imagined a mental map of Essos. New Ibbish would hold nothing of use to his aunt; it was an Ibbenese colony, small in size. Qarth was too far away and completely in the opposite direction to Westeros. If the last of his paternal family had any designs on returning to Westeros, she wouldn't consider traveling east an option. Not to mention, a Dothraki horde would never consider traversing the Red Waste.

"There more you must know, my Prince," Gildan said, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"What is it?"

"Princess Daenerys was with child, from the latest reports. By now, she would have given birth," Gildan informed the War council.

"With child!?"

"Yes, my Prince."

"Why am I only just hearing about this now?" Harry demanded furiously.

"Unfortunately, my Prince, the information was passed through a part of the Spider's network that we had no informants in," Gildan calmly explained, "By the time we knew for ourselves, King Robert was made aware and had already given out orders to assassinate the Princess before she gave birth. Fortunately, the plot was foiled, though by no action of our own."

"Who then?" Harry frowned, "Magister Illyrio?"

"No, my Prince. It was Jorah Mormont. It would seem that he has turned traitor against the Spider and stopped the attempt," Gildan said, "According to Master Caius, this sudden change in allegiance vexed the eunuch a lot."

"I'll be he was," Harry mumbled, "Still, it begs the question. Why wasn't I told?"

"You were at the Wall when we found out, my Prince," Gildan went on, "Given that the situation had changed, with regards your position, it was decided that you ought to focus on immediate events, and not something that wasn't a factor in winning this war."

"And since the Wall, it has been battle after battle, and we've only just reached a lull. I get it," Harry relented, rubbing his eyes, "Fine, but that was not Caius' decision to make. I'll allow this lapse, this one time Gildan, but never again. See that Caius is told."

Said spy took the warning in good grace and remained kneeling in silent deference.

"Have word sent to Ser Barristan to travel to Slaver's Bay. Astapor would be the best bet, so instruct Ser Barristan to travel to Volantis and then charter a ship from there," Harry ordered, after careful deliberation, "I'm sure once he's in Astapor he can find out more. Also, I need to know if Doreah is still alive, and able to protect Daenerys and her child. There are too few Targaryens left in this world to prevent my House from falling into extinction, and I don't like how we're blind to Daenerys' movements."

"At once, my Prince," Gildan promptly rose and left the tent. As she left, a young man entered, Sers Balon and Lucion escorting him.

"My Prince, we have an envoy from King's Landing," Ser Lucion revealed, "This is Lancel Lannister, the eldest son of Ser Kevan."

"Oh? And what does Ser Lancel have to say?" Harry inquired, with a raised eyebrow, "Come to formally declare House Lannister's surrender?"

"I do not. I come bringing a message from His Grace, Joffrey Baratheon the First of His Name. Lo-"

Before he could finish, the Lannister knight was interrupted by Harry.

"Enough. I don't have the time nor the patience to listen to you listing off false titles belonging to a false king," he said in a bored voice, "Say your piece, and leave."

Here, Ser Lancel hesitated, before visibly steeling himself.

"His Grace would like me to tell you that the Crown will never negotiate with traitors such as yourself," he began, "He commands the Lord of the Riverlands to arrest the northern barbarians and execute the false Targaryen."

That declaration earned a few shouts and raised voices from all the lords present before Harry raised his hand to silence them. He gestured for Ser Lancel to continue.

"If you do not, then you will all be put to death," the knight went on, "To prove that His Grace is being serious, he has a gift for you. A gift, that also serves as a warning."

He turned back and called for someone outside the tent. Two squires, wearing Lannister colours, entered while carrying a medium sized chest.

' _What in the name of the gods_?' Harry thought. Joffrey wouldn't dare do anything serious. Not with Tywin Lannister at court. He stood up and move around the table to stand before the chest.

"Allow me, Your Highness," the representative of House Frey offered, "It may be something of a sinister nature."

Harry signalled for the man to open the box, aware that the Frey knight was simply currying favour, rather than show concern for any traps.

The knight unlatched the lock with a dirk and lifted the lid. Nothing untoward occurred, prompting Harry to peek into the chest. He staggered back in shock after registering the contents of the chest; the decomposing head of Sansa Stark.

" _No_ ," Harry whispered.

Jon, surprised by Harry's reaction, looked inside the chest in turn. He, too, staggered back.

" _Sansa_ ," he croaked.

Those present cried in outraged, but Harry blocked out any and everything, as he processed what he just saw. As he did so, ugly thoughts began to cling to his mind, like a dark miasma. Roaring in fury, Harry drew Blackfyre from where it rested and swung at Ser Lancel, swiftly beheading the Lannister knight, and then gutted the two squires.

"Excuse me, my Lords," Harry hissed, "But I have a lion to skin."

He then strode out of the tent, Fenrir hot on his heels and Jör clinging to his neck. He was furious. He was guilty. And he was so damn near terrified of what he was considering. He was well aware that once he acted, he would be walking down a path that he could not return from.

Of the three feelings, it was his fury that was the biggest. The sheer gall of that whelp, Joffrey, to kill Sansa. When he had the Kingslayer prisoner in return. Harry knew that attacking the Westerlands was a risky course of action, particularly with the erratic nature of the Bastard King. And yet, Harry wouldn't excuse them. He would not be craven, not when he was winning. So here he was striding to the prisoner stockade, where his prey was waiting.

Soon enough, he reached the wooden prison that held the Kingslayer. Since his capture, the Jaime Lannister was kept close to Harry, the Prince unable to trust that anyone else would be able to resist the gold that Tywin would freely give to secure the Kingslayer's freedom. Harry dismissed the guards, desiring privacy.

"The Dragon in the North," the Lannister sardonically greeted, "I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten about little old me."

"Kingslayer," Harry coldly said.

"I keep expecting to be left at a castle, for safe keeping, but you drag me along, from camp to camp," the fallen Kingsguard commented, "Have you got fond of me, Targaryen?"

Harry remained silent, his anger increasing.

"Hm…Probably don't trust your bannermen with my life," Jaime noted, "Smart boy."

Before he could calm himself, Harry noticeably bristled at being called boy. It reminded him of his previous life, more specifically of Vernon Dursley.

"Oh, what's wrong? You don't like being called boy?" the Kingslayer mocked, "Insulted?"

Instead of answering, Harry narrowed his eyes. Rather, Fenrir, who had snuck behind Jaime's cage, started to growl menacingly. This caused the Kingslayer to pause and turn his head to the noise.

"You insult yourself, Kingslayer," Harry spat, as Fenrir prowled around the cage, "You've been defeated by a boy. You're held captive by a boy. And…well…you're going to be killed by a boy."

Fenrir entered the cage and stalked right up into Jaime's face.

"Killed? You wouldn't dare," Jaime stated, in a poor attempt at showing confidence.

"Wouldn't I?" Harry rhetorically asked, as Jör leapt down from Harry's neck and spat out a flame, inches close to Jaime's foot. Harry smirked at the Kingslayer's obvious flinch.

"Last I heard, your cousin is a prisoner. Kill me, and she dies."

" ** _CRUCIO_**!" Harry suddenly roared, causing the Kingslayer to scream in sheer agony.

It was fortunate that Harry had placed silencing spells around the cage, otherwise, the noise would have attracted unwanted attention. He held the spell for around ten seconds, before releasing. Jaime gasped for breath, twitching.

"Sansa is dead. Your bastard son killed her," Harry whispered in anger, "As far as I'm concerned, your life is very much forfeit. **_CRUCIO_**!"

Harry cast the curse once more, this time with more strength. The fallen knight convulsed in pain and wrecked his throat screaming. Realising that the Kingslayer might accidently bite his tongue off, Harry conjured a rag and stuffed it in Jaime's mouth before renewing the _Cruciatus_. Holding it for longer, this time, Harry watched with a dead expression as Jaime thrashed about and writhed.

"How was that, Kingslayer?" Harry asked with a smirk, cancelling the spell, "Do you want me to do that again?"

"F…Fu…Fuck you," Jaime swore.

"Oh, my. How rude. What would your lady mother say? Oh wait…she's dead, so we'll never know. What a shame," Harry mocked, causing Jaime to glare at the prince, "Now, tell me if you want me to that again? Answer me, **_Imperio_**!"

"I…I…I w….NO! Please, stop! Stop it!" he begged, "Stop it, _PLEASE_!"

It was pitiful, if anything, to see the supposedly majestic knight be reduced to such a state, but it was a testament to the resilience of Jaime's mind that, for a brief moment, he resisted the Imperius. Ultimately, however, even he succumbed to the effects.

"Well, unfortunately, we can't always get want we want. **_CRUCIO_**!" and for the third time, Harry held the Kingslayer under the _Cruciatus_. A tiny part of his mind protested his actions, but the larger part squashed the rebellious thoughts and persisted with the breaking of the Lannister's mind.

"You don't like the pain, do you?" Harry murmured thoughtfully, as Jaime's body spasmed in pain. A thought then struck Harry's mind. He released the spell, and regarded the Kingslayer curiously, "Hm. I wonder what will happen if I force you to think about Cersei while I subject you to pain? Maybe you'll come to associate everything you love with the same pain, whenever you remember."

Duel casting, wandlessly at that, was not something he thought was possible, but in all honesty, Harry didn't even care. All he wanted was to break the Kingslayer's mind, but leave his body unharmed.

" ** _Legilimens_** ," Harry intoned, while simultaneously casting the _Cruciatus_.

Every memory Jaime had regarding his sister, and the emotions that came with them were drawn to the forefront of the Kingslayer's mind. All the while, he was subjected to a torturous pain that was at a level far worse than the previous three times. The purpose of the torture was to force the Kingslayer's subconscious mind to associate the pain with the mere thought of his sister's name. The result Harry was hoping for was that the Kingslayer would be unable to hear the name 'Cersei' without devolving into a miserable wreck, and unwilling to even be in her presence.

Eventually, Harry released the spells, and watched with an emotionless expression, as the once greatest knight of the realm was reduced to nothing more than a quivering mess.

"Get up," he snarled, "I think a reunion is in order."

He grabbed the Kingslayer by the arm, pulled up none too gently, and disapparated away, leaving behind a whoosh of air filling in the empty space.

* * *

It wasn't often that Tywin Lannister allowed himself to relax. In between ruling the Westerlands, keeping his bannermen loyal, and preventing his children from tarnishing his legacy, Tywin barely had any time to himself. What time he did have, he spent fishing. It was a hobby he cultivated during his younger years, a pastime that allowed him to both be away from his duties yet still allow him to think uninterrupted. And right now, he definitely needed to think. Hard.

The foolishness of his grandson angered him greatly, and it was only his finely tuned ability to control his emotions, that prevented Tywin from striking Joffrey in anger. Killing their only viable hostage meant that Tywin couldn't be sure of the safety of his son. Strategically, a trade between Sansa Stark and Jaime wouldn't be equal, a fact Tywin was well aware. However, having a hostage meant that for the duration of the war, Jaime was safe from harm. Instead, the Stark girl was dead, and her head was sent to the Targaryen Pretender as a threat. The actions of the King on the Iron Throne made courtiers draw parallels with the Mad King, something which Tywin couldn't allow. He did not put all his effort into overthrowing the Targaryen Dynasty, only for his irrational grandson to throw it all away.

Despite all this, Tywin was acutely aware that his house was losing. Casterly Rock was lost, the Riverlands secure and standing in the way of relief forces and supplies from the Westerlands. Both Baratheon brothers were mustering an army each, in preparation to take King's Landing. The Vale was in disarray if the Spider's reports were accurate. Dorne long held an enmity against House Lannister since the deaths of Princess Elia and her children, not that Tywin held any regret for their deaths, as it was a necessity. However, the lack of allies meant that for the first time in his long life, Tywin wasn't sure what to do.

If that wasn't enough to anger him, the fact that his monstrous spawn, Tyrion, had betrayed him left him utterly furious. Upon hearing that House Lannister was to be stripped of all lands and titles and that Tyrion was being granted Harrenhal, Twin flew into a rage beyond which any who knew him had ever seen.

A tug on the line of his pole snapped Tywin out of his thoughts. Reeling it in, he grasped on to his catch, snapped the spine, and then smacked it against the rock he was sitting on. After that, Tywin threw the fish into a nearby basket, before preparing the line once more. Before, he cast his line, however, the Hand of the King was interrupted by the groaning of Pycelle bumbling down towards him.

"My…My apologies, my Lord," the maester croaked, "For interrupting your…time of leisure. But…I bring word to you from the King. He…wishes to speak with you in the…in the Great Hall. Her Grace, the Queen Regent, will be there as well."

"Did his Grace say why?" Tywin asked, throwing the line out once more.

"Ah…no, my Lord," Pycelle huffed, "Only that it was important, and to see him immediately."

' _One of these days, I will have to take Joffrey to hand_.' Tywin grimly thought, ' _The sheer audacity of the boy is infuriating_.'

As he reeled in the line,Tywin said, "Very well. Hm. Be a good man and take this to the kitchens. I'll have the fish for supper."

Handing the elderly maester the basket of fish, Tywin left the isolated cove, heading towards the Tower of the Hand to change his into something more presentable. An hour or so later, and Tywin strode to the doors of the Great Hall. Two of the Kingsguard stood either side, as silent sentinels. The doors then opened, allowing Tywin to enter. Curiously, the hall was empty, though Tywin paid no mind, assuming that he was early.

However, that line of thought was instantly smashed to pieces as Tywin's two grandsons and daughter entered the hall, Sers Meryn Trant and Boros Blount accompanying them.

"Well, I'm here grandfather," the boy king imperiously stated, "What do you have to tell mother and me that was so urgent that it couldn't wait until the small council meeting?"

"What? You thought I summoned you?" Tywin asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, "Pycelle told me that the King wished to speak with me."

"That's impossible," Cersei refuted, "Joffrey has been with me all day, and neither of us has seen that old fool at all."

"So someone wanted us all in one place," Tywin shrewdly realised, "But who?"

The answer to Tywin's question came in the form of a haunting rendition of a popular Westerland song.

 _And who are you, the proud lord said,  
that I must bow so low?  
Only a dragon, with a vengeful wrath,  
that's all that you must know._

The voice that sang the altered verse from the Rains of Castamere echoed all throughout the Great Hall until it stopped, along with the accompanying music.

"Ah. You came. How…delightful," the same voice called out, from the direction of the Iron Throne.

Immediately, those present turned to face the intruder, the Kingsguard drawing their swords. Appearing out of nowhere, a tall young man, with black hair and mismatched eyes, faded into existence, sitting on the Iron Throne. The man looked unconcerned with his surroundings, instead idly resting his head on his clenched fist.

"This chair is incredibly uncomfortable," the young man casually remarked, as though commenting on the weather, "I know Aegon the Conqueror said that a king should never sit easy, but this is just ridiculous. One wonders if he secretly had masochistic tendencies."

"Prince Haraldr," Tywin stoically greeted.

" _Prince_?" the Baratheon-turned-Targaryen asked, with an arched eyebrow.

"If the rumours are to be believed, you are the scion of Prince Rhaegar and his second wife, Lyanna Stark. That makes you a Prince-in-exile," the Old Lion candidly explained.

"Huh. Thoughtful of you," the Targaryen commented.

"Enough of this! Guards seize him!" Cersei shrieked. The two knights moved to arrest the young man, but a careless wave from the Prince resulted in everyone freezing where they stood.

"Ah, none of that now," the Targaryen said, "I just want to…talk."

As he said this, Tywin noticed a rather familiar hint of malice in the Targaryen's eyes, malice that he hadn't seen in over fifteen years.

"Now…I understand that a Lannister always pays his debts," the exiled Prince began, "An admirable quality, I'll admit that much, but…Do Lannisters pay every debt they incur? Or just the ones that they care about?"

As he spoke, soft growls could be heard from behind the throne of swords. Seconds later, a monstrous wolf came into view, before resting on its haunches at the rebel prince's right side. Simultaneously, screeches could be heard along with the strange flapping of something leathery. Much to the shock of Tywin, a dragon no larger than a small pony shuffled to the left side of the Targaryen pretender, though with the appearance of a genuine dragon, the pretender aspect was in doubt.

"Nevertheless, House Lannister owes me a debt. It owes me a life," the Targaryen softly continued, "You killed my cousin, a girl as good as my sister."

"So what if I did?" Joffrey, perhaps recklessly, challenged, in his typical high pitched whine of a voice, "She was a traitor and deserved it!"

Tywin inwardly winced at the words from his errant grandson. He was quite knowledgeable regarding the fury of a Targaryen, and the one that sat before him didn't disappoint.

"Deserved it, did she?" the Targaryen seethed, with both dragon and direwolf mirroring their masters anger by screeching and snarling, respectively, "Traitor, was she?"

Tywin helplessly stood there, as the son of Rhaegar rose from the Iron Throne and strode towards Joffrey. He grasped Joffrey's head by the chin and stared into Tywin's grandson's eyes.

"You must be very brave to speak to me like that, _your Grace_ ," the Targaryen then silkily murmured. He then paused, before snorting, "Or very foolish."

Releasing Joffrey, the Targaryen almost _glided_ towards Cersei and smirked.

"Tell, me _my Queen_ ," he said, "Do you know the story of Blood and Cheese?"

The face of Tywin's daughter wore a mask of confusion, but Tywin's eyes minutely widened, as he recognised the names.

"No?" the Targaryen went on, "Well then, let me educate you. You see this particular tale hails from the time of the Dance of Dragons. For when Prince Lucerys Velaryon was killed by his half-uncle, Aemond Targaryen, Prince Daemon Targaryen, who supported Prince Lucerys' mother, Princess Rhaenyra, arranged the death of one Aegon II's sons.

"Under the instruction of Prince Daemon's spymaster, two men who went by the names of Blood and Cheese, a butcher and rat-catcher respectively, used the passages under the Red Keep to enter the heart of Maegor's Holdfast," the Targaryen continued, "There, they bound and gagged the Dowager Queen, Allicent Hightower, and waited for Queen Helaena Targaryen to arrive. Once she did so, the pair attacked and bound her and her children. Then, they told the Queen that she had to choose which son they would kill, threatening to rape her daughter if she did not choose."

As the Targaryen told the tale, a mad grin on his face, Tywin watched as Cersei's eyes widened and her face paled. All the while, both Joffrey and Tommen had expressions of sheer terror.

"Eventually, Queen Helaena chose her youngest son Maelor, only for Blood to take the head of Jaehaerys, and fled with the head of the dead prince, leaving everyone else untouched," the Targaryen finished, "I am quite sure you know what I am suggesting, _my Queen_."

Cersei opened her mouth to speak but found that no sound came. Almost uncharacteristically, the Targaryen blinked in surprised.

"Oh, my mistake. It would seem I forgot to remove the enchantment that prevents you from speaking. I am very sorry," he apologised, before snapping his fingers.

"You won't get away with this," the Tywin's daughter hissed, "You won't escape alive."

"Really? That's the line you're going with?" the Targaryen asked, "How…dull. Well, seeing as I like Myrcella too much to threaten here, I'll try something else. If you don't choose, I'll have my direwolf have his _way_ with you."

To emphasise the threat, the oversized wolf stalked towards Cersei and began sniffing her.

"You…You…You wouldn't?" Cersei stuttered, her eyes widened as far as they would go.

" _Wouldn't I_?" the Targaryen menacingly asked.

Realising the seriousness of the threat, Cersei closed her eyes, causing tears to fall down her face. After a few moments, she opened them again, a resolute expression on her face.

"Joffrey, forgive me. Please. Spare Tommen," Cersei chose.

The Targaryen's eyebrows rose in disbelief before he narrowed his eyes, as Joffrey silently spluttered in shock. Tywin blinked in surprise, confused as to why his daughter would condemn her favourite son to his death.

' _Unless…She is counting on the Targaryen boy to kill the one she wanted to spare, thus in actuality choosing Tommen to die_ ,' Tywin thought, somewhat amazed that his daughter was capable of such planning, and not even batting an eyelid that one of his grandchildren was about to die. Tywin was ruthlessly pragmatic, if nothing else.

However, that theory was immediately disproven as the Targaryen drew a sword from thin air and swiftly stabbed Joffrey in the throat, before decapitating him. Instantly, Cersei shrieked in horror, at the sight of her headless son.

"Do you honestly think I would kill Tommen? An innocent child?" the Targaryen asked, in mocking amusement, "Really…How…foolish."

"But…But…You said-" Cersei was on the verge of being catatonic that she couldn't even finish her sentence.

"I lied," the Prince ruthlessly stated, "Joffrey killed my cousin. He incurred a debt. And a Lannister always pays his debts. He paid for it with his life."

He then turned to face Tywin, "While I ought to kill you, I won't. I want to you watch as I destroy your legacy, piece by piece," he then spun on his feet and strode towards the Iron Throne before pausing, "Oh, but before I go. I no longer wish to host Ser Kingslayer. Hence why I have brought him back to you."

An idle hand wave from the Targaryen saw Jaime appear. However, he looked nothing like the handsome knight that had left to put Riverrun under siege. Where before his long hair was sleek and reach down towards his shoulders, now it was matted and uneven. His once clean face had a beginnings of a beard. All of that paled in comparison to the vacant expression that was on Jaime's face.

"Physically, he is unharmed. For you see, unlike some, I keep my prisoners in good health," the Targaryen sneered, "Mentally, however…Well, when I received the message from the late King Joffrey, I may have lost my….temper."

He casually shrugged, "Anyway, I no longer have any need of him. Do what you will."

With that, he abruptly left, only to reappear secondly later.

"Ah, I almost forgot. A little bird told me that Sansa was beaten by the Kingsguard. Is this true?" the Targaryen asked.

The innocent tone in which the question was posed visibly unsettled the present knights and even Tywin had to restrain himself.

"I see," the prince quietly said, "So it _is_ true."

A flash of green light later, and both Blount and Trant dropped to the floor, no longer breathing.

"Well. That concludes our business," the Targaryen cheerfully announced, barely acknowledging that he killed two more people, "I do hope you survive the Baratheons, if only so that I can kill you later. Bye for now!"

An instant later, and the boy, direwolf, and dragon were gone, leaving behind three corpses, one without a head, a hysterical mother, a broken man, and a shell-shocked soon to be King. Tywin just stood there, idly realising that he could move once more, and allowed a momentary loss of control by clenching a fist.

"You are a fool, boy," Tywin furiously whispered, staring at the wreck that was his son, "Aerys thought that he could insult me and get away with it, but in the end, he died. And so, too, will you. This I swear, as Tywin of the House Lannister, and I will see your debt repaid in full."

* * *

Taking an educated guess, instead of apparating to where the army was previously camped, Harry directly went to Casterly Rock. His guess paid off, and a sentry spotted him upon arrival, though Harry pretended to not notice the sliver of fear in the guard's expression.

When Harry returned with his familiars, he wasn't alone. Taking a detour, he picked up the Redwyne twins, who were at the time hostages to keep their father, Paxter Redwyne, from rebelling. Originally, the plan was for agents of Caius to extract them, but Harry, even while he was still succumbing to his rage, decided to kill two birds with one stone.

"Find accommodations for these two," he grunted, "And have a raven sent to Paxter Redwyne, tell him I will send him one of his sons, as a gesture of good faith, but wish to speak with him further, with regards to his other son, and his future allegiances."

The guard hastily bowed, sped away as quickly as decorum would allow, in order to fulfil the orders given. Harry gestured for a servant to escort the twins before striding off in search of his chief bannermen. It soon became apparent, that the Lords had appropriated Tywin Lannister's study as a war room of sorts. Upon arrival, Harry was surprised to see his Uncle Eddard present.

"Uncle," he greeted, "I assume you're here because of recent events, instead of the Crag?"

"Nephew," his uncle gravely returned, "Aye. I left Galbart Glover in charge. I…I had to see Sansa."

"I understand," Harry assured, "Has Aunt Catelyn been told?"

"I…No. I wanted to tell her in person. By your leave, I will ride for Riverrun."

"I see. Is that that you will do?" Harry quietly asked, "There… is nothing else that you will be doing?"

The Warden in the North looked baffled by the question.

"No, nephew. Nothing else," he uncertainly replied, "Why?"

"Are you sure? I am not as ignorant as you all believe I am," Harry stated, in a dangerous tone, "I can smell it. The stench of fear."

All of the Lords that were present stiffened, to which Harry smirked victoriously.

"I knew it," he murmured, "You all fear what I can do. What I did to the Kingslayer."

"It was not honourable, nephew," Eddard stiffly stated.

"Honour?" Harry spat, "Wars are not clean. Wars are not honourable. We either win by any means necessary. Or die in the attempt."

"Life is rarely so absolute, nephew," Eddard sternly replied, "Perhaps on the battlefield, one might do everything they can to ensure they win. Even I have done such things to ensure that I came back alive.

"But what you did to the Kingslayer was not on the battlefield," Harry's uncle coldly continued, "He was a prisoner that you tortured, and he did not deserve such treatment."

"You saw what the Kingslayer's _bastard son_ did to Sansa, did you not?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes, "As far as I'm concerned, I'm merely settling a debt that the Lannisters had to pay."

"Your mother would not have wanted this," Eddard quietly said, "She would have wanted you to keep your honour intact."

That single comment snapped the tenuous control Harry had over his anger.

" _STAND BEFORE THE GHOST OF SANSA, AND ASK_ HER _IF KEEPING MY HONOUR_ INTACT _MATTERS_!" he roared. The Lords were shocked at the rage, and could not speak, "This silence is your answer.

"Do not speak to me of honour, Uncle," Harry hissed, "It is…nothing more than a constraint. A weakness to be exploited by our enemies."

"Honour is not a constraint nor is it a weakness!" his uncle protested, still reeling from his nephew's anger.

"It is when the likes of Tywin and Joffrey act without it," Harry seethed. He was furious that his uncle was being so stubbornly blind.

"And that is precisely why we should act with honour!" Eddard argued, "If we act as the same as our enemies, we are no better than those monsters! I would rather die with my honour intact than live like a monster!"

"That…can be arranged," Harry said, to everyone else's horror. As he said this, the voice of an old man whispering ' _Burn them all_ ' could be heard in his head.

"Nephew?" Eddard fearfully whispered.

"This disloyalty you are displaying," the Dragon in the North began, "It's...disconcerting. I expected that my blood, above all, would obey. But if you aren't loyal…Then you must be _traitors_. Do you know what I do to traitors, _uncle_? I _burn them_! _I BURN THEM ALL_!"

Unknown to him, the Lords saw that both of Harry's eyes had turned blood-scarlet, highlighting the madness that was beginning to set in Harry's mind.

"Harry! Remember your father's sire! Remember what he did!" the Lord of Winterfell beseeched, "Calm down!"

An unearthly wind grew in the room, sending sheets of paper flying.

"Cousin, please! Don't become like Joffrey! You are better than this!" Jon then urged.

Unfortunately, Harry did not register these words, and raised his palm, sparks of flame licking his hand. The words for a spell were about to pass his lips, only for Harry to seize in pain. His right hand rose up to clutch his left, as if his own body was warring with itself. This became apparent when his right eye returned to its usual shade of vibrant green, while the left eye stayed red.

"You…I…No…" Harry was clearly struggling, but none of those present knew what to do to help, "I won't…let you…kill…my…family!"

No one dared move, but some were whispering that this was the work of the gods, and no one was willing to incur whatever it was that was clearly possessing their Prince.

"Fight cousin!" Jon pressed.

Harry was brought to his knees, as he clutched his head in pain. His body was shivering, as though he had the chills, yet the weather was fairly warm.

"Get! _Out_! **_Of_** **_my_**! **_HEAD_**!" Harry finally screamed, as a pulse of pure magic washed across those present and knocked them off their feet.

Harry remained kneeling, as he panted in exhaustion. While he was granted a temporary reprieve, he was well aware that whatever was corrupting him remained within his mind. Even as breathed, he could still feel his mind warring with itself. He then glanced nervously around at the Lords who were getting up from the floor. Harry could see the fear in their faces, some blatant, while others hidden behind looks of apprehension.

Unwilling to remain in the company of others, Harry stormed away to the godswood, ignoring the calls for him to stay. Upon reaching the heart tree, Harry paused, breathing deeply to calm himself. It wasn't exactly easy, as irrespective of the fact that he stopped himself from killing his uncle, his rage was like a burning wildfire, unwilling to be quenched. The cackling voice of the same old man from earlier repeated ' _Burn them all_ ' in his head certainly didn't help.

However, that all stopped when Harry reached out to the heart tree. Almost mechanically, he placed a palm on the face, where a forehead would be on a man, and instantly Harry blacked out.

When he reopened his eyes, he found himself alone, in a snow-filled clearing on the edge of a forest. On one side was a stone cliff about fifty feet high, while the surrounding sides of the clearing consisted of weirwood trees. The plunge pool at the foot of the waterfall had a stone platform. Harry wasn't sure why, but on some instinct he approached the platform and channelled his magic.

"So, you've finally come," a cold voice called out, surprising Harry.

He looked at the waterfall and saw a shadow on the other side of the water approaching him through the fall. Soon enough, the shadow broke through the water and allowed Harry to take in its features. Only for his eyes to widen in shock when he registered what he was looking at.

It was as though Harry was looking in a mirror, save for the fact that the features of the Haraldr Targaryen before him were not reversed. The same raven-black hair. The same thin scar that ran across his face. Even the same damn armour. The only difference was that instead of mismatched eyes of green and violet, the figure before him had dark scarlet eyes, with cat-like slits for pupils. The sclera were black instead of the usual white, and altogether it was a terrifying sight.

"Who… _What_ are you?" Harry asked, guardedly.

"Can't you tell…? I'm you," the copy replied, with a sickening grin, "I am the inner you inside of your heart. I am you that you kept buried and locked away, hidden from everyone you know."

"That…You're not making any sense!" Harry shouted.

"The Children of the Forest call this place the Falls of Truth," the copy murmured, "This is the perfect place…For me to come out!

"…In other words, I am the _true_ you. The _real_ you," the copy finished.

"The…real…me?"

"Yes…I am your precious hatred. Your treasured madness and your beloved rage," the copy almost crooned, "There is just one difference. I don't hide hold myself back."

"Hold…back?"

"Oh yes. You could rule the whole of Planetos with your powers!" Dark Harry cried out, "No one could stop you. No one _would_ stop you!

"And I am _sick_ and _tired_ of you limiting yourself," the copy went on, "So now. I will take the lead. And you…You will die."

Without warning the copy charged, wielding crude facsimiles of Blackfyre and Dark Sister that appeared from thin air. Startled, Harry didn't know what to do, only to find himself wielding his own Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Bringing them up, he managed to raise his swords to block the oncoming attack, only to watch as his opponent moved in a familiar feint. Hastily dodging, Harry drove forward and caught Dark Harry's Blackfyre copy and prepared his usual disarming manoeuvre, but was forced to retreat as Dark Harry countered, once again using a familiar move.

"Don't you see? Anything you can do, I can do better!" Dark Harry shouted, "I know all your moves! Your tricks! The very way you fight! You cannot win!"

"I will not lose!" Harry roared, attacking in a pattern that even the most experienced of warriors would find hard to defend against.

Yet Dark Harry deflected each swing, each blow, with barely any effort. Growling in frustration, Harry discarded his swords and decided to fight using magic. His mind acting accordingly, manifested his Holly and Phoenix feather wand in his right hand.

" ** _Confringo_**!" Harry yelled, hoping to catch his evil twin off-guard. It wasn't to be, however, as Dark Harry reflected the spell of his own Blackfyre back at Harry, who stifled a curse as he dodged to the side.

"You'll have to do-"

" ** _Expelliarmus Duos_**!" Harry interrupted, finally managing to score a hit on Dark Harry. The spell neatly connected and caused the copy's swords to go flying from his hands.

Dark Harry narrowed his eyes in anger.

"So that's how you wish to play, is it?" he grimly stated, "Very well."

The copy drew his own wand and fired a rather familiar spell.

" ** _Avada Kedavra_**!"

Harry wordlessly conjured a slab of rock to absorb the Killing Curse before erected a Shield Charm to protect himself from the shards of stone.

" ** _Bombara_**! **_Reducto_**! **_Sanguis Fervor_**!" Harry returned fire with a spell-chain.

" ** _Arma Fortis_**!" Dark Harry cast a stronger variation of the _Protego_ spell, especially for the last spell.

"My, my. That last spell was the Blood-boiling curse," Dark Harry remarked, in amusement, "Dark magic. Who knew you had it in you?"

"Enough! **_Expulso_**! **_Confringo_**! **_Sectumsempra_**!" Harry snarled, "I will not lose!"

"Oh do please continue struggling. It will only make my victory much sweeter," Dark Harry maliciously grinned.

Harry dived out of the way of another Killing Curse, and panted heavily. The brief lull in the fight gave him the opportunity to study his opponent. There was something uncannily, almost eerily familiar about Harry's evil copy's duelling style. Unlike when they crossed swords, the wand style that Dark Harry used wasn't the same as his own. It was only when Harry caught sight of bone-white wand that he knew so well, that something clicked in his mind.

"You're not just some evil twin of myself, are you?" he suddenly realised, breathing deeply to regain his breath.

The clone of Harry let out a chilling, hauntingly familiar laugh, as he mockingly clapped his hands.

"Clever boy," Dark Harry grinned manically, "Now he gets it!"

Suddenly, shadows pooled around Dark Harry's body, and enveloped him completely. It formed a cocoon of pure darkness before bursting outwards and dissolving into nothingness. Where once Dark Harry stood was now the figure of Tom Marvolo Riddle, tall handsome and bearing the same haunting scarlet eyes with slit pupils as Dark Harry.

"Hello, old friend," he greeted with a wide smile, "So nice to see you once more."

"You…" Harry whispered, thunderstruck, "It can't be...You can't be…!"

"I suppose you weren't expecting me, were you?" Riddle asked, as he feigned a sigh, "A pity. I thought we knew each other so well, Harry."

"You can't be alive!" Harry roared, "I killed you."

"I am immortal, Harry," Riddle replied in an oily voice, "I cannot die."

"You lie! I destroyed all of your Horcruxes!"

Riddle smirked, "Did you? Do presume to think you destroyed them all?"

Harry gaped. Pointing a shaky finger at the Dark Lord, he shouted, "You made six, plus me being an unintentional one! You could not have made more! You soul could not have been sundered any further."

Riddle merely smiled that infuriating smile. Harry closed his eyes, and then forced himself to calm.

"This is a dream. You are not real," Harry re-opened his eyes, "Be gone! You are nothing more than a shade!"

The smile on Riddle's handsome face morphed into a sneer, "Do you honestly believe that? The _Master of Death_ ought to know if I was a mere shade."

"No! Stay where you belong! In. My. Memories!" Harry snarled.

"I will never be a just a memory, Harry," Riddle laughed, "Did you honestly believe you did away with me, when we duelled? You and I will forever be tied together."

"Never!"

"Do you not remember what I said, in the Chamber of Secrets? That you and I, we're very much alike. It's rather uncanny really. Both half-bloods, raised in an unloved environment. Feared and loved, at different times in our history. I truly wonder why you would not join me in conquest."

"I am nothing like you!" Harry raged, "I would never have joined you!"

"And yet, you were very willing to use the Unforgivables, Harry," Riddle almost crooned, "Why, you used them almost as efficiently as I do."

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up! _SHUT_! _UP_!" Harry roared.

"Look at you now. A ruler without peer. Loyal men behind you. And the charisma," Riddle smirked, "Why, it almost makes me reminisce of the time when I first gathered my Inner Circle."

"I think, that's quite enough," a silky voice interrupted the proceedings. Both Harry and Riddle turned to the newcomer.

"Who dares interrupt the Great and Powerful Voldemort?!" Riddle demanded.

"You know, speaking in the third person is generally accepted to be a sign of madness," the figure snarked, stepping of the shadows, "Though, considering who I'm speaking with, it's not all that surprising."

" _ANSWER ME_!" Riddle roared.

"Oh, hush," the figure, who turned out to be a young man, similar in age to Harry, casually waved an arm, and Riddle disappeared in a blink of an eye.

In the back of his mind, Harry noted how anticlimactic that was, but made no attempt to voice his thoughts.

"Now that the…hm. I suppose 'memory' would be an apt description," the man commented, "Now that the memory is gone, we can finally have a discussion that has been long overdue.

"Hello, Partner," the man grinned, "We have _much_ to discuss."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I am incredibly sorry it took my two weeks longer to publish that I said it would. I was on a small weekend trip away from home, and without my laptop, so I couldn't finish up this last chapter. Also, I ended up addicted to Pokémon Go.

Anyway, this last chapter was pretty hard to write. I needed the events to occur, but I still think I got it wrong. I was trying to showcase that the Targaryen Madness didn't escape Harry, but I don't think I nailed it perfectly, and it seems a bit out of place. Anyway, the plot advances, so I hope you enjoyed it at least.

Incidentally, a new poll will be posted soon, so please take time to vote.

* * *

 **Next update** : As I've missed my last couple of deadlines, I don't think I can accurately say when I will be publishing next. Sorry!


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